A Mean, Mean Cat

Olga was in an exploratory mood yesterday morning. Rather than following one of our normal walking routes, she led me north and west into Cricklewood.

We were on this street, near this bridge, when a woman (walking unsteadily and, it must be said, dentally challenged) called to me loudly across the street. "I like your dog!" she slurred, then waited a beat before adding: "And you're not looking bad yourself!"

Hey, I'll take a compliment anywhere I can get it.

We met the toughest, meanest street cat in the world. Olga passed inches from it on the curb, growling and straining at her leash, and the cat didn't budge. It just hissed and puffed itself up to twice its normal size. Then it followed us for two blocks.

It basically ordered us out of the neighborhood and escorted us to make sure we left!

And as if that weren't already enough excitement, we found a priceless Canaletto propped against a wall next to a recycling bin! Alas, I couldn't pick it up, because I was carrying a bag of Olga's poo while searching for a rubbish receptacle. I was forced to leave my fortune behind.