{Lulu, not Cali}
Mr. Cheeseland likes to remind me how much more space we could have for our money were we to make the move out to the suburbs.
“We could have a huge kitchen, a garden and more space for Cali to play”.
“Who are you kidding?”, I always say. “Cali doesn’t understand the word play; only sleep, eat, and drool” (yes, our cat drools). A real bouffe-chie-dort, an eloquent moniker Julie Delpy’s father attributed to her cat in the film 2 Days in Paris.
Besides, I didn’t move to France to live in the suburbs. I have no desire to rely on a car nor to return to quiet living. I find the sounds of speeding cars and the occasional smashed bottle outside my window comforting. I like looking 5 floors below and seeing children running to school, ravenous men and women scurrying in and out of the corner bakery, lovers quarreling (and subsequently making up), a parade of cars horns blaring in just-married celebration, and someone step in a pile of dog droppings rudely left behind.
There is constant action, save for that early Sunday morning calm that I adore. When I return to visit family in the suburbs of Philadelphia,…
