The grey cat who lives in one of the houses beyond my back fence comes prowling into my yard, treads past the first leaves fallen from the oak this year, passes by the oleander bushes to which only a few white flowers still cling, and sniffs around the trunk of the cherry tree. Then he spies one of my cats, who is sitting by the back door watching him. They gaze at one another for a few minutes, as the shade deepens, and the few feathers of cirrus cloud in the north briefly glow a brilliant white and then flush rose and begin to darken.
The grey looks away, pretending not to be interested in my cat, but glances at her from time to time as he slowly makes his way to the low spot of ground through which he can make his way under the fence and back to his own yard. Of course, he stops for a minute to groom himself, and cast one look back at my cat, before he finally slips under the fence.
Once he is gone, my cat, also feigning disinterest, wanders about the yard for a while, gradually approaching the spot under the cherry tree where the grey sat. When she reaches it, she sniffs it carefully. Then she yawns, and walks back toward her spot by the back door. When she is almost there, she looks up and notices me watching her through the window.
She stops short, and sits. She looks off to one side, licks one of her paws, looks back at me. I'm still there. She stands up, walks a few steps to one side, sits with one side toward me, and looks at me again. I'm still watching. She pretends to be interested in something on the ground in front of her, swiping a paw at it, but there is nothing there. She looks at me again, and, seeing me, shoots me a rather sullen glare, gets up to turn, and sits again with her back to me, switching her tail. Move along! Nothing to see here!