This evening I heard a stray cat yelling on the fire escape outside my window at the new studio. I did not open the door. I've aquired a couple of cats that way. The first, who ran in turned out to be criminally insane. I named her after her former owner who had overdosed in the apartment next to me. She was a bad kitty. She bit me and shredded everything. Later in life she developed a thyroidid condition which caused her to eat the baby's food right out of her dish and poop in the oven burners. She would bite holes in wrapped loaves of bread. My roommate of 20 years decided to pay for Veterinary Care which turned out to kill her. 6 months later the animal clinic called to ask if I wanted her body back. She had turned radioactive and was finally deemed safe to collect.
I said no thank you. Sorry cat.
The second cat tried to get in for three days before my husband finally opened the door and said "Oh well!". He was the nicest sweetie pie ever. Homer would let himself be danced around by the toddler and give me snoozing when I was sick. I miss him dearly.
P.S. The cat on the fire escape has gone elsewhere.
Sent from a gnome