Aza's reflection

My black cat Aza’s reflection in the sliding glass door was particularly sharp today. Opaque, even. I put my teacup in the sink, but saw no reflection of my own in the glass.

Aza whined, twitched, but his reflection did not.

Fucking weird.

Another black cat, his twin, and a staring contest through the pane. Four inches of separation they simply cannot comprehend, yet are content (sorta) to simply acknowledge by sitting and staring.

Our cat is large, at least 15 pounds. He is more than big-boned. One might call him fat and not get hit. I am of one. Last night, a raccoon at least twice his size sidled around the shed in the back.

I shooed him away.

Another, holy fuck this one is fucking enormous, a small bear more than a raccoon, revealed itself atop the shed.

Our three block move somehow planted us amidst a creature carnival.

Oh, that’s right, also yesterday, a bum knocked on the door and asked me if I had called the cops on him for using our bathroom.

“Uh…no…”

“Well, can I use your bathroom.”

“Yeah, sure, why not. I mean, fuck, you gotta go, right? I mean, I know you just showed up and accused me of calling the cops on someone I have never seen and have no idea what bathroom you’re talkign about or how you might have soiled it, but yeah, while we’re on the subject, why don’t you come in to my new home and plant your gritty buttcheeks on my porcelain. Nah, don’t worry about it, you can use our towel too,” is how the conversation might have gone if I, too, suffered from some form of instability. Instead, I repeated my first statement of “Uh…no…” and closed the door.

Creature carnival indeed. Beware what lay stone’s throw away on adjacent blocks from whence you snooze oh so quietly.