There were the sounds of meowling from without. After it kept on for a while, I popped out to see what was up. Downstairs popped out. Turns out that Thomas, the cat of next door, had gotten off the (upstairs) balcony and down onto the lawn. (There are conveniently-placed trees so a flying leap and then a climb down is not out of the question.) Downstairs's next door neighbor popped out. I went out the front and around.

So there were the three of us in our pajamas trying to herd this cat...

Mentioned the sartorial statement to the manager. Discussion of free speech ensued. Permission to spread good vibes granted.

The crazy lady with the big dog is moving out. This is good for everyone, probably including her.

The smoking man @ my apartments is from Canada. He is old and stands on the walkway outside his apartment and smokes.

I was just down taking the trash to the dumpster, and I saw a head-of-household clad in shorts and one of those sleeveless undershirts and a small clan or clan and extended family and friends of children. I couldn't follow the discussion, but it looked as if he were directing them in the loading of at least three large (kitchen-sized or larger) trash bags full of beer cans into the back of a truck.

I've mentioned the lady downstairs-and-over? She is elderly, eccentric, has a Very Large (and surprisingly well-behaved) Dog, and is the one who would like to at least get the neighborhood stray kittens decatted. She's been experimenting with lawn furniture (on the inside of the apartment complex, there are no lawns, just gravel, but the term "lawn furniture" still applies if it's on gravel) lately.

There is a tree out front of her patch of "lawn" -- it's not much of a tree, actually, just yet. It's held up by wires between two sturdy stakes the size of hefty broomsticks or the average garden hoe handle. This is not new. The black curly wig draped over one of the wires is new, however. There are some safety pins or paper clips (I didn't get close enough to take a very good look, given that I was just passing by) dangling from the mesh lining of the wig.


I might have caught sight of the Little Fayoumis's former playmates Tommy and Angelica (no, not their actual names, yes, nicknamed for the Rugrats characters) in the group of five to ten kids. I thought they'd moved long ago.

The yelly lady is certainly in fine form. Indeed, she's unusually coherent; I hear that there's something about "God damn mental retards" -- for whatever reason, this has been the latest (all today, all yesterday...) theme...