As I walked across the patio, I noticed the cat that Nancy had chased out of the office sitting on top of one of the tables. Ned was scratching behind its ears to the accompaniment of a loud purr. He caught my eye and motioned me over.
“Listen, don’t mind my wife. Her bark is worse than her bite. It’s just that she’s very, well, how should I put it…”
“Organized?” I offered.
“Yes, that’s a good description for it—organized.”
I actually thought scary was a better description, but organized seemed more polite. The cat nudged Ned’s hand, reminding him that his primary duty should be ear-scratching, not chatting with people.
“Sorry about that, Mrs. Moto,” Ned said. “Only a few more scratches, then I have to get back to work.”
“Mrs. Moto is an interesting-looking cat.” I stroked her white
