Cat Caller: The guy who sells incense at the farmer’s market has long hair and a beard and wears a black karate outfit like he’s some sort of evolved yogi superior being. He sits on the wall with his legs crossed and looks like he’s meditating but then when you walk by he says stuff like oh look at your shoulders, so pretty, or I love those socks, those are fantastic. He says it low enough that you’re not sure if you heard it right but when you turn to look, What?, he raises his eyebrows a couple of times and stares a hole into you: creepy as a pedophile in a grease stained suit.
Cat Lady: Senora walks everywhere rolling her suitcase behind her. I’m not sure where or if she works but I have seen her in the middle of the city wearing her visor and pulling that old bag. Even as I write this I can hear those wheels on the cement. She’s got to be 80. She lives around the corner from me. She carries a ziplock bag full of dried cat food that she leaves in piles under bushes and along the garden walls. My cat Leroy, who sits and stares at me like I’m insane when I hold the door open for him, will run out from wherever he is hiding when he hears those rolling wheels. He’ll walk with her around the block, his tail high in the air, while she talks to him in Spanish.