A white and black fluffy-haired cat sits on the bike path most mornings, just south of the Apex Street bridge.
It doesn’t panic when I approach, like the mourning doves, rabbits, and squirrels do. It doesn’t dart in front of me in a poorly conceived plan to avoid my bike.
It just sits and lazily turns its head as I roll by. It makes no noise, no sudden movements, and watches the wheels spin in only a half-interested way.
It sits half on the paved path and half on the gravel screening to the side. Its head, the only thing that moves on an otherwise still body.
