Yesterday as I was doing the weekly shopping for my cats at their favorite pet food store, I couldn’t help noticing the older man perched on a bench outside the door. His hand was clutched around a paper coffee cup and he rocked back and forth, muttering, “The witching hour is coming…the witching hour is coming!”

I examined him out of the corner of my eye, like we all do with the homeless. He didn’t look like he lived on the streets. His clothes were clean and appropriate for the cool, wet we...