... actually belong next door. But in the morning, when the cats are crying to be fed, and in the afternoon and evening, when they want to play and get attention, the next door neighbors seem otherwise occupied. So we (and Laura, who lives on the other side of our double), feed them twice a day, and play with them out on the porch. The little one is called Alfie.
For a long time, we didn't know the other cat's name. He was very skittish, darting away whenever anyone tried to get close, so we called him Skittles. Apparently, his real name is Hal. Whatever!
I've become very fond of these cats. T. Middy refuses to let them in the house, in part because he is allergic, and in part because Alfie has managed to wriggle in twice, and both times he took to the Carpet of High Value with his claws. Even cuteness will not make up for crimes against the carpets, as the residents of Iowa City already know.
I hope the neighbors don't move out and take the cats with them (ie to teach us a lesson about colonizing other people's pets). But New Orleans is full of strays. There are dozens of cats living under buildings on campus. Outside a house on St Charles Avenue yesterday, we saw two small black-and-white kittens and their collar-free mother. It's lucky that T. Middy has an allergy, or else I'd be taking them all in.
Cats are less trouble than students, plus they don't fancy themselves as writers.
Take it from me, you definitely don't want them near that carpet. Cats are socialists, they have no respect for the property of others. Everything belongs to them.
Totally unrelated, but did you happen to read the article on Steve Coogan in The New Yorker? I am requesting Knowing Me, Knowing You and I'm Alan Partridge DVDs for Christmas.
Posted by: Brando | November 08, 2007 at 09:12 PM