Thanks to our continued warm winter weather, I took a walk the other day along a public path that runs through my town of Falls Church. The path is a converted railroad bed, used by bicyclists, pedestrians and roller-bladers. I enjoy the walk partly because it gives a glimpse into the private lives of the town. Since it was an old railway, it passes at the back edge of properties both residential and commercial as it heads westwards out of town. The glimpse of the private is what makes me go back to the walk again and again. There seems to be so much more scope for the imagination there, as opposed to the carefully controlled facades that the same properties present to the street.
One place along the path where I always stop is at the rear of an auto body shop. While a mismatched assortment of cars and tires are always arranged in this small parking area, I have never seen any humans or signs of human work. This space, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet wide, is the domain of a pride of feral cats. The dust-colored lithe cats spend late afternoons sunning in the west-facing yard. I don’t know whether their coloring comes from being covered in dust or whether that’s the natural color of their fur. It’s become my own private “Where’s Waldo” game to see how many of them I can spot. Since they are all varying shades of gray, they blend in well with the faded asphalt and sun-bleached paints of the cars. I can make guesses as to their relative status levels by their positions—some lie quietly in the shade of the cars, others sprawl on top of hoods. On the afternoon of my last visit, one green-eyed cat held court over the entire area by perching regally on top of a stack of tires. As it sat poised with a fluffy tail curled around its feet, it gazed straight at me from a position significantly higher than that of any other cat in the yard. I felt a bit like a commoner being noticed by a queen.
