Kipilefti

Tingatinga (who I now think is a boy cat like Pol) stands on my blanketed legs, mews a tiny disconsolate mew. I put down my book and pet him for a moment, talk to him, and he moves up to sit on my stomach and looks at me, then curls up in front of my nose. I gently shove him down to my legs again, where he stretches out contentedly. I pick up the book again, listening with half an ear to the mix I’m thinking about. Pol climbs the bars in the windows, reaches the top, turns around and climbs down headfirst. He joins his brother on my legs and they’re both asleep in seconds.