It was an exceptionally long day at the salt mine, and when I pulled into the garage, I found something waiting for me: the newsletter of the neighborhood association, which I deliver to twelve homes on this block. (Well, actually, ten at the moment: we have two vacancies.) I plucked the sack from the Basket Of Incoming Stuff, went back inside, and closed the garage door.
Shortly thereafter, I went back out to the garage, on the basis that as long as I’m walking the block, I may as well start with a downhill stretch, and some semi-infernal mewling arose from the corner, rather quickly traced to a grey cat which had managed to sneak in before the door came down. Kitteh was duly led to the back door, and traversed the threshold of same.
A dozen houses later, I climbed the uphill stretch, and here’s that same grey cat, presumably waiting for me, definitely demanding my attention; not even my best vaudeville-audience hiss would dispatch the creature. One possibility struck me, so I searched the garage, and found no kittens; I’m guessing that this poor soul was just trying to get out of the cold. I am doing my best to overlook the (admittedly small) possibility that this was someone who knew me in a previous life.
Neighborhood cats, as a matter of course, slide through here all the time, especially this time of year, when the sort of birds that would dare give them grief have yet to arrive from their winter homes. Seeing one on the premises, therefore, is nothing unusual; seeing one that acts like it wants to move in, however, is exceedingly rare.