Little Kitty lives across the street in Car Guy’s house. He is a tabby like our Gertie.
Little Kitty has two tuxedo brothers named Leo and Big Kitty. They don’t visit, but Little Kitty does. He visits every evening when I go outside to sit.
Sitting outside helps my mind relax a bit. It’s like if my brain had a bra on all day and then got to take it off. I have no idea where we’re going to travel. Perhaps, I’d right a past wrong. Or suddenly, have the means to retire from my job. Who knows? As long as the path doesn’t get dark, I’m happy to see what fantasy my subconscious has lined up for me.
I’ve been spending a stupid amount of time the past few months (probably over a year) looking at properties on Zillow. I look at everything. I can’t get enough. We aren’t selling our house or anything, but if we were, I know the market, man, I got this shit.
So, I was considering one of the condos I had looked at earlier. Adorable. Nice deck with a view of downtown. Exposed brick. Smallish kitchen with a fabulous island.
Then, Little Kitty shows up.
Little Kitty: Meow
Me: You know, I was just about to close on a half million dollar condo downtown.
Little Kitty: Meow
He either leaves after a few minutes, or tries really hard to get inside our house. Which would be a disaster as Alfie isn’t a friendly kitty. It would be stressful.
I mean, Little Kitty did cut my internal bedtime story short. I hadn’t even got to any decorating. I’m glad he showed up though, I’m always a little bummed when he doesn’t.
I told Randy that I don’t think the cat looks like a Little Kitty. I think he looks like a Geoffrey. With a G.
Randy told me that I couldn’t call him Geoffrey because that isn’t his name and could confuse him.
So, I only call him Geoffrey in my head.
I don’t actually call him Little Kitty, either. I call him Bubby. Which is what I call Gertie and Alfie at least half the time. Cats are Bubbies. Bubbies are cats I guess.
I worry about Little Kitty crossing the street.
He seems pretty savvy most of the time. But if that other tabby from down the street comes up and chases him? He’ll darts across the street without looking. That other tabby pisses me off. He’s a dick. I don’t know his name, so I call him Mean Kitty.
If I get distracted while Little Kitty is on my porch, he will reach up with one paw and give me a tap on the shoulder. Like “Hello….you were just petting me a minute ago? I believe you weren’t quite done. Right?”
I look forward to my visits from Little Kitty. Even though most of our encounters end with “No…you can’t come in.”
I hope he stays safe.