This cat has been living with me for nearly ten years and I have still not given him a
name. He introduced himself, lo those many years ago, first to my wife, leaning into her ankle
as she was planting flowers in the garden. My wife had a name when I met her. Her name is
Petal.

Petal looked down at the cat and thought he was very pretty. You better not meet Mouze, she
said to him. He'd like you all right. Mouze is me, the guy who is writing this story about this
cat. I am Mouze.

I became acquainted with the cat a few days later when he approached while I was sitting on
the porch smoking. I ran a fingertip down his spine to the base of his tail.

I won't go on at length about why, through little encouragement from me, he remains in my
orbit these ten years later.  Everyone has heard, if not experienced first hand, of how a cat
can insinuate itself into your home and your life.  It's an old and familiar story.  Probably was
old and familiar to ancient Egyptians.  

This one insisted for some time to maintain only a loose affiliation with me, happily visiting
neighbors, often disappearing for days before showing up at my door again. Middle age has
settled him a bit, however.  These days he is rarely away for more than a few hours.