Neighbors

The neighbors have been great about stopping by and introducing themselves since we moved to our hundred-year-old house three months ago. There's Earl. Darwin. Pickles. And this timid male who comes frequently but as of yet hasn't introduced himself. Oh, and Patches, of course.

Evil Patches.

These cats come at regular times throughout the day to visit our cat Alex and to partake of the bountiful bowl of cheap kibble my son fills every morning. The bowl of food (and usually a bowl of milk as well) sits on a plastic Rubbermaid cube, three by three by three, that houses summer flip flops, old work shoes, and other smelly footwear from which my children refuse to part.

Earl, a beautiful grey male, comes in the morning, eats daintily, then settles in for a nap beside Alex, both cats' tails gently moving in the misty morning light.

Sometime around noon, Darwin, the new cat from overseas, leaps onto the front porch, walks along a piece of white trim past the dining room, around the corner to the kitchen windows and on to the back porch.

The dogs are indignant at the cats' visitations. Tails up, ears up, they stand at the window, barking, turning around at me, wondering why I don't intervene with these freeloaders who, unlike Alex, don't bring me presents of chipmunks and mice, setting them at my feet with a proud and gentle mew.

But I let them eat.

All except Evil Patches who beat up Alex on his first night in the neighborhood.

Evil Patches is not welcome here.



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