I heard the meowing before I was fully awake. The other-side-of-the-wall dog was tapping back and forth on the other-side-of-the-wall floorboards in concern, I imagined, for the other-side-of-the-wall cat, whom I imagined having wedged himself in above the refrigerator. Once I rose and came yawning down the stairs, I found that he was on the porch, suddenly transformed into an other-side-of-the-door cat.
Perhaps I should not have opened the door, but it seemed rude not to. Maybe he had only only wanted to borrow a cup of milk. He darted inside.
He has a white face, a gray hood. The end of his nose (pink) angles downward. He has completed his circuit of the premises and rubbed his cheek against every imaginable object. He is on the table now, apparently considering drinking my coffee.
I have no idea why he is here, but he clearly has no intention of leaving.
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