The cat in the window
IESCAPED this week from the frying pan of London for—what proved to be—the fire of Dublin. It’s a city I associate more with showers than sunshine, but, this week, it broiled unfamiliarly in the heat. During the day, tourists and commuters huddled on the shady side of the street. At night, I threw open my window to keep my bedroom cool and was regaled with the continuous sound of building. The only consolation as I lay awake listening to pneumatic drills and roaring mechanical diggers was that Ireland is clearly reviving from its economic doldrums.
My open window also introduced me very unexpectedly to a cat. Leaving my room one morning, I tried to close the sash. For some reason, it was jammed and it simply wouldn’t shut despite a hefty shove. Looking up, I saw the problem: a cat perched between the frame and the window, I presume cooling itself in the passing breeze. As I stood back in amazement, it leapt down into the room.
Delighted, apparently, by human company, it brushed itself warmly against my leg and purred for a short while. Uncertain what to do next, I opened the door and it raced out of my room as mysteriously as it had appeared. JG