Last night, on the way from my car to my house, a black cat ran out from somewhere near my porch, paused in the middle of the street, and then disappeared by the police garage. I kept walking. As I climbed the stairs to my porch, I heard a meow behind me and turned to find little black cat sitting on the sidewalk staring at me. "Hello, Kitten," I said. He came closer. "What are you up to?" I inquired as I opened the front door. The cat came up the walk to my porch and started to climb up.
"Sorry, Kitten," I said. "I have allergies and asthma. I can't invite you in." He paused with his front paws on the bottom step, and peered past me up the stairs to my apartment. He sure was a pretty cat, but I guess he understood because he meowed one more time, turned, and ran back across the street to the police station. So far, my luck has not changed.
In my head I named him Pyewacket, even though I know Pye was a siamese cat.
Apropos of nothing, except that I laughed a little too much over this: