I’m pretty sure there’s a cat living in my garage.
At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a cat. It’s not my cat – I’ve never owned a pet, though I’ve often thought it would be nice. For the most part, my new squatter is a quiet neighbor. I wouldn’t even know she was there, except for the little tufts of hair she leaves lying around. However, every now and again, I get little notes from her. Usually, on the windshield of my car. Right after it rains.
This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a squatter in my garage. Of course, the last time I had a “guest” back there, I wound up having to clean up quite a mess afterwards – old moldy blankets, empty syringes, and a pair of soiled green briefs.
No, I think I like the cat better.