Warm again. The fan is on & to keep the air moving through I have an old black rucksack holding open the study door. Every time I glimpse it out of the corner of my eye I mistake it for a cat I used to have. This is a complex act of perception. The bag is too big to be a cat, but I’ve never owned a dog so I don’t see it as one. On the other hand, the cat I am remembering, my first cat, was named Gnasher, after Dennis the Menace’s dog. And to complicate the issue further, my last cat’s ashes are in a container on top of the bookcase near the door. His name was Iggy, and he was the wrong colour to be mistaken for the bag; but for a fraction of a second each time I catch sight of it, he is in the mix.