My cat, Fergie, often sits in widows. I work from home at a desk in the corner of the living room and she likes to spend time in a chair beneath the front window. She can sit up and look outside or curl up and let the sun warm her fur. During the course of the day she does a bit of both. My neighbors sometime say they’ve noticed her watching them.
I never really gave that much thought until I started a dog-walking job. Just a few days ago, while expertly guiding two greyhounds and a smaller dog that looks like an Australian cattle dog but isn’t, I spied a gray-and-black-striped tabby (that looked a lot Fergie) following our progress down the sidewalk from a second-story window. He was sitting tall on his perch and we were almost but not quite opposite the house across from his. I crossed at the street corner and watched him sink down as we approached. Soon only his ears and eyes were visible. He was cute, so I took his picture and for a second — or maybe just three, I swear — I took my eyes off the dogs and one of them decided it might be more interesting to walk on the cat’s lawn instead of sticking to the public strip of grass closer to the road.
In an instant that cat was sitting tall again and glaring at us. This cat, perhaps like my own, wasn’t just taking in the scene and having a bit of a sunbath. He could have been anywhere, but he chose an upstairs window to hang out in, the best spot in the house for surveilling the neighborhood. And he was keeping a pretty low profile. He had started disappearing from my view, but then he’d noticed something out of the ordinary and possibly harmful to his property — for the record my dog did not pee on the lawn, he just walked on it — and decided he needed to take a good long look at us in case he had to report an offense. So now when I work at my desk I’m not so jealous of Fergie, who I thought just got to relax all day. Who knows what she’s seen through that window.