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“An orange cat scurried out from under the bed and proceeded to snake around my ankles, purring loudly. One eye rested shut, as if it were krazy-glued to a close, and her fur was mottled. Marianne scooped her up. "Sac à puces," (Fleabag), she said. "This stray is a devious one, always sneaking into the apartments. I don't know how she gets in. I'll have to warn Claude to stop feeding her tuna."
I scratched under the cat's chin, staring into her good eye---a kaleidoscope of greens and yellows. "She's sweet," I said.
"She's filthy," said Marianne, tucking the cat under her arm.”