what's new pussycat?

I guess it's time for a little explanation. If you follow me on other social media outlets (and — face it — why wouldn't you?), you probably have seen pictures of a mature black and white cat keeping a watchful eye atop a set of cement steps and a white wooden doorway whose frame is in need of a fresh coat of paint. As far as I'm concerned, this stoic little fellow is named Ambrose.

Maybe.

Probably not.

I love Kung Fu

My wife and I became active walkers well over a year ago. And by "active," I mean "active for our age." We are not in training for a 5K or a 10K or any other K that may exist. (I thought "K" stood for "strikeout." I don't know what it means in relation to walking or running.) We like the exercise and, as we approach the twilight of our lives, a bit of leisurely exercise is a good thing. We're not trying to break any records. We just want to stay healthy. So, instead of purchasing some bulky piece of commercial exercise equipment that will only become an expensive clothes rack after the initial novelty wears off, Mrs. Pincus and I do a couple of rounds around to block as often as possible. Like David Carradine's "Kwai Chang Caine," we walk the earth — seeing what we can see and meeting who we can meet. Mrs. P sees people she knows and even waves to people she doesn't know. We find unusual things along the way, like discarded full meals still wrapped in the logo-emblazoned paper from McDonald's and, more recently, a trail of newly-discarded face masks as though Hansel and Gretel were blazing a path but still trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. 

Most days, we take the same route. Actually I follow my wife's lead, since she knows the neighborhood better than I do — even though I have lived here for thirty-five years. Some days we head to the right once we've exited the house and descended our porch steps. But, most days, we head south on our suburban Philadelphia street. It's on this route that we see Ambrose.

A mere four houses away, Ambrose surveys his feline kingdom from the top step of the stone and wood house of our unseen neighbors. Ambrose watches regally as I fumble in my pocket for my cell phone. He waits patiently as I awkwardly enter the passcode and scroll to the camera icon. He poses obligingly when I raise my phone to eye level and snap off a couple of quick pictures. Then, he watches as Mrs. Pincus and I continue on our little jaunt around the block — or sometimes even further. If we happen to double back on our return trip to our house, taking a portion of the same homebound route as we started out on, Ambrose is frequently in the same position as earlier. Sometimes, he has dozed off behind one of the large cement urns that flank our neighbor's front door. Sometimes, he has stretched himself out upon the welcome mat, experiencing a slightly different perspective of his domain. Rarer, though, Ambrose is gone, perhaps off to chase a bird or a mouse or to see what awaits him in the backyard.

In the winter, although we kept up our regular walking habits, Ambrose had vacated his usual spot, opting — no doubt — for a warmer place. Cats can always find a place to keep warm. But once spring returned and the warming sun was out, Ambrose was back, silently surveying the area. 

Ambrose has a tendency to disappear for days at a time. We've passed his familiar steps and, sadly.... no Ambrose. Day after day, we walked slowly by our neighbor's house, craning our necks to hopefully catch a glimpse of Ambrose lurking behind a bush. Then, one day, Ambrose would reappear at the top of the steps — staring at us with his confident look, letting us know that he would not be offering an explanation of his absense.

As you may have seen, I post a picture of Ambrose whenever I see him. Mrs. Pincus gets a little nervous when I stop to take a picture. "What will you say if someone comes out of the house and asks why you are taking a picture of their cat?," she asks.

"I'll just explain that Ambrose has a little following on my social media." I reply.

The problem is — if the owner hears my explanation, the first thing they'll say is: "Who the hell is 'Ambrose?'"

You see, we named him "Ambrose." We actually don't know this cat's name. There's a good chance it's "Fluffy" or "Whiskers" or "Misty." There's a better chance that it's not "Ambrose."

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