So I am walking to work this morning, past the purple house, and there's a blonde woman, mid-thirties, hovering uncertainly by the gate where I have trysts with my ginger-cat friend every morning. She sort of stared at me as I started to walk by, like she was expecting me, so I slowed down and said, "Oh, do you live here? I love your cat." And she said, "No, I don't live here. But I visit that cat every day." She looked at me a little accusingly, like I had swooped down as some sad-cat-lady-femme-fatale and stolen her place. I didn't know what to say so I just said, "Oh. Me too. He's great." I smiled my most non-threatening smile. Silence. "I've been visiting him for months now," she said. "He's not here today." Silence. Clearly meant to insinuate that this is my fault. Smart Cat; of course he wasn't there, he wanted to avoid this kind of confrontation, where the Other Woman meets the Other Woman. I felt like we should break into some rendition of the Brandy-Monica duet "The Boy is Mine" re: the cat, but decided to leave it at that, we engaged in a few minutes of tense/fake friendly chit-chat, and I moseyed down to work.

To think, that cat was playin' me this whoooooole time.