Oh, man. While sorting photos out for my very very belated U.S. holiday post, I ran across this in a folder of oldies:
Since we’ve been home, T and I both keep catching glimpses of a phantom black cat out of the corner of our eyes. Trev swore he heard him come through the cat door– it wasn’t Quinn, who was sleeping nearby. It wasn’t a neighbor’s cat, as far as we could tell. And the other day, I was drifting off to sleep and could have sworn I heard him purring down by my feet.
I roasted a chicken this weekend, and had a good old pout when only Quinn came begging for treats. Even the Bean’s asked once or twice, when spotting a black cat in the street while walking: “Zee-sho? Issa Zee-sho?”
Poor old Zeno. We miss him.