Hunter's wife died a couple of years back, and he watches over his grand daughter a lot, she just graduated from high school last year, I think is what he said. Sometimes I feel guilty even observing people, you know, but to interrupt seems crude. I keep the sheer curtain closed, I don't want to really interrupt anything, I don't want them seeing me. I decide to grab my camera (that is my goal today anyway, to take pictures). But it's nice watching the cat stand up and him petting it, he's smiling and talking to it. Hunter is a hell of nice guy (not that I've talked to him all that much, Jesus I've been in my house a decade now, and I've only had a few conversations with him). It's a sweet sight, just a man and his cat and the sunlight. At this moment I become, for a lack of a better word, somewhat moved.
Hunter and he starts to pet this big fur ball of a cat (the neighborhood flower bed shitter). I don't think much of him (I'm a dog person after all). That's when I see my neighbor's big mangy cat sprawled out on the hand rail of the patio across the street. While I try and remember what breathing is.īut while chomping away and still trying to figure out what ingredient I must have left out of my sandwich (and strongly considering a beer, 9 am is early for most people's Mondays, but I had been up since 4 am and it's my day off, so it would be a lunch time indulgence only). I had been up for quite awhile by then and I was planning to go out for a walk with the camera in hand, pretending to be productive, but really I just wanted to enjoy the first real warm day of the year, before it snowed one last time or my allergies kicked in and then gave way to a miserable couple of weeks (hell the whole summer in truth). I was staring out at the window and listening to something on the stereo. I was sitting there at my kitchen table at 9 am eating a chicken salad sandwich, it wasn't bad, but it was missing something (I guess you could say that about any chicken salad sandwich really).
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