Guilt flooded through me. He was a cat, a semi-nocturnal creature, and here I was yelling at him for doing what came naturally. Apologizing profusely, I scooped him off the floor and snuggled him tight, murmuring promises of undying love and adoration.

His purrs came fast and strong. So fast and strong, in fact, that if I’d been completely awake, I would have suspected that I’d been manipulated into giving him more room on the left side of the bed, but since I was still mostly asleep, I didn’t think about it until hours later, as I was opening the cat carrier door for an Eddie who looked remarkably well rested.

When we were all on the bookmobile, I posed the question to Julia, who thought it was entirely possible, and even if it wasn’t, that it should be because of the humor value.

Even Doreen Ives, one of our newest bookmobile patrons, laughed out loud at the story. “With cats,” she said, “you never know. Maybe he was trying to tell you something and was frustrated that you don’t speak cat.”

We all looked at Eddie, who was flopped across the dashboard, soaking up the weak sunlight. He managed to sense our attention and responded by shifting, rotating so that his back end faced us.

“Nice,” I said, and said it again just after lunch when I deposited him back at the houseboat. I’d opened the cat carrier door and he lay inside, not moving, and glaring at me with the Look That Should Kill.

“You realize what’s going to happen?” I asked. “If I walk out and leave this door unlatched, at some point you’ll get out, swinging the door open as wide as it’ll go, and when I come home I’ll forget it’s open and bash into it with my shin.”

Eddie didn’t move. Either he didn’t think the scenario was realistic, or he didn’t care, or he was a cat and didn’t understand a word I was saying.

I blew him a kiss and walked downtown to meet Tabitha. We’d made plans to meet at the local bike and kayak shop around one, and just as the city’s big clock was striking the hour, I spotted her white curls bobbing toward me. We met at the next intersection, turned down a side street, and three storefronts down, walked into Paddles & Pedals, jingling a cheery set of bells.

The shop’s ceiling hung low over us, but that first feeling of slight claustrophobia was quickly offset by the bright lights that shone on what had to be a hundred bicycles, bouncing sparkling rays of starlight across the walls, the floor, and us. I brushed at the bits of white dancing on my front and was slightly disappointed that I couldn’t feel them.