the run becomes less long, more familiar and understandably comfortable. i pass by great houses with much to look at, signs for slow children at play, mischievous housewives walking in the middle of the road with daughters donned in matching gear made for exercise. i stop to feel the fruit of a fig tree on a steep hill, imagining the day when they are ripe, hanging over into the sidewalk while i am eating like a fig king. i plan to come back, marking it as high priority in my mental notebook. i get to the bottom of the hill eventually and stop at the small field and call for the cat but, i different one meows sadly and walks dumbly out of the dark patch of nothingness. it’s a siamese and i laugh to myself. it doesn’t want to be my friend so i keep running into the night and not but a few strides later i see the cat i was looking for. he’s dirty and has ears tucked back in an aerodynamic fashion. i sit on the wall near him and he comes over and as i lay my hand over his fur i feel a thick coat of dirt. i imagine the once-owner of the nearby vacant house leaving him here on the side of the hill, neglecting him forever. the cat jumps away and follows whatever is in the nearby bush, probably a mouse or a slow lizard out a little too late