73 degrees and the screen door is wide open this evening. The warm breeze and gentle twilight is harshly punctuated by the insistent squawking of a squirrel in the crabapple tree just outside. She has our attention, the dog, the cat, and I, so much so that we go out on the tiny deck for a better understanding of her distress. There below? A stripe-ed beauty of a tabby cat, sleek and brown and gray; patiently waiting at the foot of the tree, she looks up at we three with eyes as green as the new grass growing just off to her left. Neither shrieking squirrel nor silent cat seem inclined to end their stand-off, and after a moment, we grow bored of it and drift back inside.