Minneapolis, April, 1979
No matter how unruly the terrain, the well-bred urban cat
always appears to be dressed in high style. Betty, our
long-departed feline housemate, would always check the
garden in the spring for rodents or an occasional young
rabbit. Betty was the queen of the neighborhood, I've
written about her before. One night, as I returned home
from a gig, Betty was cavorting in the front yard,
dancing in a most peculiar, stylized manner. Around her
an audience of about a dozen cats was arrayed in a
semicircle. I called her name gently, but Betty never
broke character and continued her performance.
When I asked her about it the next day she just
yawned and then took a nap.
A North Fifth Street story.