Haven't spent much time climbing Moraga Hill (Grand View Park/Home/whatever you call it) for the last 18 months...so this week I found myself heading there quite a bit, for fresh air. There are so many bits of culture about that place that I had forgotten...
The best one was the cat. At the base of the hill, just before one climbs the 5 flights of stairs to the summit to see the whole City, there are some houses in a circle around the hill, as though they are worshipping it. If one is facing the hill there is a house on the right that has a cat with the markings of my Bess and the size and hair length of my Bob, and he had a crush on me. I named him Moraga too, just like the street and the hill.
Since I am horribly out of cardio shape (I can lift my weight if provoked, but can't climb Moraga in a single bound--sad), I stood at the first flight of stairs and looked on my neighborhood. At first I thought a baby was crying in one of the houses...and just as I turned to look up, there's Moraga. "Moraga!" I exclaimed, and he was on the bottom step in front of me saying, in cat-ese, "Where have you BEEN? I done howled and howled for you and you never came! What the HELL do you have to say for yourself? Huh?" Just as the lecture was wrapping up, a woman stepped up the opposite side with a beagle puppy pulling hard on a leash. Moraga flashed into the shadows.
'Twas good to see you too, old friend. ;)