There's a pile-up of coffee filters on my kitchen window sill this week. It's a signal (SOS) to the joggers and dogwalkers that the person who lives here is on deadline. Panicked by my procrastination. Fighting the sleepies. Coffee to the rescue.
Didn't housewives of old put pies on their sill to cool? At least that's what I remember from cartoons. My poor passersby will have to settle for used filters. I'm recycling them when they're dry.
Do you glance into people's windows when they leave the drapes open and turn on the lights at dusk? I do. My husband's usually at the wheel, and I have the luxury of rubbernecking. I like to project myself into what I imagine life might be like in their homes.
When they see the coffee filters, what would my life seem like from the outside looking in? Would they want to trade places with me?
One thing for sure, our house seems like a friendly place to dogs and cats who are passing through. One morning we awoke to find four plump puppies on our porch. They'd been dropped off across the street, judging from the crate that lay on the curb. They made a beeline for our house.
The neighborhood cats lounge on the lawn, slinking off when we appear at the door. Everyone is welcome. I logged the visit of one of them here.
Five Septembers ago, the cat who would be ours for life showed up. We didn't know it at the time. He was a few notches higher in feline beauty than the rest. But it took a gunshot to the chest to prompt me to claim him.
I'll tell you about it when I get my head above the pile of compositions awaiting my editing.
