Tonight a stray appeared outside the window. Or maybe he or she belongs to someone. Or maybe he or she is feral. Frank was meowing up a storm. I decided to feed the stray, who I've named New Kitty even though I know I can't keep him or her or even take her in. My guess is New Kitty has claws and poor Frank would have to sit on her to protect himself.
I'm trying to figure out if there's some meaning to this as I often feel like I dig or make paper chains, linking one event to another, an image, a sign, a conversation, an action, a feeling. I often wonder if this is a trait of a writer, to constantly be looking for links and meaning and how that affects our lives. Sometimes I think that what's good for writing is not always what is best for you as a person. I'm often in my head and it's good to get out of it. Today I swam with Janeil and watched a snippet of John Tucker Must Die and ate Chips Ahoy and Goldfish before heading out to a cute little French cafe with Sandra and Jonathan to play the part of the hip city crowd who talks about poetry and politics and drinks foreign beers and champage cocktails on lazy Sunday evenings. Honestly, I wouldn't trade either one. After all, the Sophia was in a can. That's my kind of classy.
So far, I haven't found a meaning for the stray, though I did get to meet a neighbor---Stephanie and her cute dog who were out walking and walked into my dilemma of what does one do when they find an animal. I called the shelter and they said that I'd have to bring the New Cat to them, there's no Prince of Cats to come and rescue them. Though, Stephanie seemed to think that having a cat around ouside to catch the mice from the dirty restaurants at the top of the street is a good thing. Tres Chic for us on Hopkins!