I awoke this morning to find a cat on my roof. A more affectionate cat then this one, I have never seen. Of course that characteristic was not particularly appealing because if there was ever a cat with rabies, it was this one. He, and that is a totally arbitrary term since I was not about to risk the rabies series by peering down to find out the cat’s sex, was mangy, very mangy. His tail was caked in mud, his fir was matted and unkempt, and in some places it was entirely absent as though removed in a fight. And he was hungry. Though I wanted the cat gone immediately, not being entirely heartless to his plight, I couldn’t deny him a plate of milk, which was swiftly gone and replaced with mewling for more. Before going to work I left a chair for him to climb to freedom. And of course I named him. Puddle.