Pan watched ghosts climb up and down our stairs in the apartment on North Avenue. Religious folk might have talked of angels. We didn’t.
A neat tiger cat with white paws and fluffy white patches on her belly and face, she wasn’t given to excessive bouts of fantasy. She hunted insects with a passion, and while in Micronesia, she learned how to separate a gecko from its tail and how to lazily observe the ants in their endless work. When we moved her to our two story apartment on the Northside of Pittsburgh, she alone became the Watcher of the Stairs.
Her eyes widened, the pupils expanding, and her small head slowly lifted as something moved up the stairs. Then she waited until, pupils again growing, something moved down the stairs. She did this for 20 or 30 minutes at a time. Then sweet kitty took a nap.