Saturday, August 24, 2013
When evening approaches the sleeping cat stretches, pats the sliding door with his paw, and asks to be let out.
Then he goes up to the roof, and begins his vigil.
Sometime in the night he comes back, beating the sliding door or the screen again to be let in. It is opened, and he shimmies inside, his fur now thick and soft and always somehow puffed from the air outside. He is in a good mood, tail straight up, blinking at us and squinting a little.
We pick him up. He purrs.