The neighbors, Marty and Pat, have cats. A bunch of them. They are indoor cats. I don’t remember the exact number but I do know it is in the double digits.
One of them is sitting in the window looking out on the world now, a black one with a white neck. Now he is reclining in the window, not quite as vigilant. Snoozing. Looking away. Feigning disinterest. Like you do.
I wouldn’t be a good cat for that very reason. It’s hard for me to mask my general enthusiasm for life and my unflagging curiosity. I’m a little more like a puppy, I suppose. Eager, mostly. It works for me for the most part. There have been times when I wish I could be more disinterested and detached but mostly I’m happy to be the person I am.
Bittersweet Farm
August 9, 2019
