The house I’m in is on one of those pseudo-main roads, a supposed shortcut around the traffic lights that takes longer than the alternative. I was washing the dishes the other night, listening to the traffic drive by, when I notice something from the other side of the kitchen.

Skritch. Tap tap. Skritch.

I glance over and see nothing until I drop my eyes to the ground. There, paws pressed against the glass, is a 1 to 2 year old calico named Bijou. It turns out she was one of the neighbor’s cats, which meant I got to play with a well-behaved kitten for a little bit before walking her back over. Being allergic this probably wasn’t the brightest of things for me to do, but c’mon. Kittens. They’re like tiny little cynical, yet curious people with fur.