My Hood, Your Hood, a pair of stocking stretch pants from the late 80's.

I got off the bus last night after having picked up a very fun raffle prizes for a young professionals event when my friend from Cleveland called. She also lives in the OC - Ohio City - my old hood. She had two stories to tell me. The first story: She was eating dinner, watching TV when she head this large boom. She went out back to find flames shooting up into the night sky. She called the fire department as a large (stolen) truck was on fire and she was particularity panicked that it would catch her house on fire as the dry winter grasses were starting to catch. Now she has a burnt out truck behind her house in the alley.

Her second story: Over the weekend she had gone to the library to return some books. The library is surrounded by a park where the alcoholics often battle the drug addicts for turf (it is true - I kid you not.) one of the homeless guys came over to her and commented "Your dogs - one of them is a terrier and the other is a yorky." She concurred. He then went on to tell her the history of the different breeds, why they were bread, etc. He then noticed her books and concluded she loved mysteries and did he have the perfect novel for her which he grabbed from the depths of his bag on the bench. He insisted, to her protests, that she take it home and read it.

While I was having this conversation with my friend, I came home to my apartment where there was a new phone book at my door and a bag of kitty litter (new) waiting for me. I too had a surprise from my neighborhood. I went out with a friend from college that I had recently found (more about this later) and when we came back to my apartment, the police were outside the complex having arrested a women who had broken into the corner apartment (she apparently knew who lived there.) I was told to keep my shades down so that people can't look in.

Your hood. My hood.

And a pair of stocking stretch pants from the late 80's are looped around the door knob stretching to the towel rack. This allows me to easily unloop the door when I take a shower and keep it open when I go to work. Kitty friends have locked themselves in the bathroom a couple of times now. It is funny. I'm pretty sure it's part of the 4 a.m. Olympics - run around the apartment, sprint over the sleeping human, vocal exercises, chase knit mice across the floor and play bat-the-other-cat-behind-the-door. One of them usually is on the wrong side.