There’s a prewar building that has a floor at street level I pass quite often.
The elderly woman who lives there, leaves the shades on her front windows open so her cat can look out.
She’s a big cat, gray and white, with a face like Aunt Bee’s…round, cute, as if any minute she’ll offer you tea and pie.
My Joan of Bark stops to coo at her, saying things like, who’s a pretty girl. Is it you? Yes, it’s you!
She rubs against the screen pleased like any girl getting an unexpected compliment.
One day I noticed her mistress sitting at a table.
I at once apologized for intruding.
She said, “Oh no, how nice of you to always stop by.”
I, gushing a bit said, “What a nice thing to say. Can I ask what her name is?”
The woman came to the window, chucked the cat under her chin and said,”
His name is Andy.”