Charlie was my father’s cat, but he had friends all over the neighborhood. He loved everyone, and everyone seemed to love him back.
One of his friends was Sebastian, who lived across the street. Sebastian was much bigger than Charlie, with long, dark brown fur. His name suited him. The two cats visited each other so often that they might as well have traded houses. Sebastian would come to my parents’ house, and Charlie would go to his.
Sometimes I would ask my mother, “Where’s Charlie?”
“Oh, he’s at Snavely’s,” she’d say. “They’ll send him home when they’re tired of him.”
Then the phone might ring, and the neighbor would say, “Send Sebastian home.”
The visits weren’t always one at a time. Every so often, Charlie and Sebastian ate together on our back porch. I can picture them there: little Charlie beside his much larger friend, both perfectly comfortable at the same supper table.
Charlie might spend part of his day on the patio with my father, then go across the street to see Sebastian. At other times, Sebastian came to us. Nobody seemed surprised by the arrangement. We simply kept track of whose cat was at whose house and sent him home when asked.
I’ve known many cats, but I’ve never known another pair who traded houses quite like Charlie and Sebastian.
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