I forgot to tell you something.
On Friday, the huge gruff dishwasher repairman came over, because I need more expenses, and while he was in there doing his bidness, I said, “I’ll leave you alone. I’ll be in the living room should you need me.”
Awhile later, he came in, bemused. “That gray cat is sure a character.”
See. Three gray cats. In my house, you say “That gray cat,” you haven’t narrowed it down much. But once he said “a character,” I had an inkling.
“The one that’s all gray?”
“Yeah, that one. First he stood on my clipboard. Just stood there. Couldn’t get him to move. But when I did try, he pressed noses with me over and over.”
Then he smiled fondly at Steely Dan, who’d picked that moment to saunter out of the kitchen proudly.