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.
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