The little grey cat appears to have decided to adopt us. When I open the front door of a morning for my first porch-sitting of the day, there she is. She wiggles through the lattice, rubs the front step, and just brushes my leg as she daintily (but, all of a sudden, no longer timidly) enters the house. So now we have a cat: pushing the door open to peer at me in the bathroom, climbing into bins of clean laundry, waking my roommate with a pair of kneading paws to the throat.


Our lease, of course, forbids these domestic pleasures, such as they are. We have decided, therefore, that we are not feeding this cat. We just happen to leave our door open all day, and she just happens to wander in and make herself at home. Nobody could blame us for that, right?