No, I am not paying homage to the city of Paris. I am saluting the memory of a neighborhood cat, Paris.
Paris was a stray cat who roamed the back yards of Southgate Avenue in Annapolis. A relatively free spirit, welcoming the handouts and hospitality of our neighbors; he repaid their kindness, and ours, by occasionally depositing a mouse or possum on the back stoop. No, he was never invited inside, like the the kitty in the painting.
Which brings to mind:
Mice were also a problem in downtown Annapolis—unwelcome squatters in both our homes there. Nothing is as disconcerting as hosting friends for dinner, and catching the flash of a wee gray critter running down the hall adjacent to the dining room.
Doug and I sure remember some fun dinner parties back then . . . as hosts and guests. Come to think of it, is there anything more congenial than friends gathering together, enjoying each other’s company and hospitality? (Isaiah 25:6)
So here’s to a funny memory that awakened others . . . Cue Ray Price . . . For the Good Times. And I am so grateful for them all.
Even stray cats, named Paris.
You might like this memory of us before the pandemic became personal: A New Sketch of Old Dancers