So I’ve got my special spot, that perfect perch on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sun shines in so nice and warm for about forty minutes, and I’d just drifted off when this couple comes in, a brown one and a white one, and the white one says, “Isn’t this just darling?” and the brown one says, “Kind of old-fashioned,” and the white one says, “But it’s adorable,” and the brown one says, “If you say so—when will your grandmother be back?” and the white one says, “We have plenty of time.”

Then they notice me. “Oh, a kitty,” the white one says. “More like a full-grown cat,” the brown one goes. I keep my eyes squinted tight, thinking if I don’t move a muscle they might go away and leave me in peace. Heaven forbid they try to pet me. If they do, I’ll show them some claws. But they seem more interested in petting each other. Fine by me.