They belong to neighbours, to the street, to a vet I have never met. I pick them up, we stand there, someone takes a photo. Then I put the cat back exactly where I found it.


Nobody taught me how to hold a cat. I just have long arms and no plans.
on technique


If a cat is holdable and no one has objected out loud within four seconds, the cat is held. There is no step after that. There has never needed to be.



Every cat I have ever put down has looked at me like I quit early.
on endings


I have never once gone looking. It happens on the way to somewhere else, which is why I am late to most things and have stopped explaining why.
People ask what the plan is. There is no plan. There is a cat, and there are my arms, and the two facts meet several times a week without any input from me.