Phil always unlocks the door and pushes it open and there is Pika, arching her back, swishing her beautiful tail.
"Get out of the way, Pika," he says, sometimes pushing her out of the way with the side of his shoe.
She looks at him as he passes. His arms full of a box of Ramen Soup, grocery sacks full of grapefruit hang from his hands.
"Hello Pika," I say as I come in.
She comes out to greet me.
Then decides if I'm going to stand in the open door for that long she'll venture outside. She's really only been as far as the porch--except for once. She and Minkey snuck out one night. But that's a story for another day.
"Back inside, Pika," I say and close the door. I put my groceries down and scratch her back.
"Okay, then. I'll just check out what your brought home."
Are there any mice in there?
So, here she is, GetoutofthewayPika and HelloPika. She doesn't really answer to either name because she's a cat. And that's what cats do. Answer to nobody.
