Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Once upon a windowsill

If you look up in the middle of the block you may see a black cat regarding you from a limestone windowsill. He often sits in the window at night, behind the lowered mosquito screens, sniffing the Harlem air, watching the branches of the linden tree planted in front of the building, looking at the passersby.

But today I raised the screens in the sash windows and the kitty shot out to sit above the street in sun reflected off the windows across the road. Soon, however - predictably - he realised that the windowsill is long and takes him to a spot where a cat could easily jump down and onto the stoop steps - and then the street.

Not good.

So I stayed within arm's reach. I'll see if there is way to block off that end of the sill, with some old, attractive wrought iron thing, perhaps the starburst one sees sometimes, on the rooves of the tall narrow houses where the rays of an iron sun extend between buildings to deter clambering thieves.

I am tempted to eat those little pumpkins.
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