I lie in wait behind the window sill. Any moment now if routine holds, the little rodent-like creature will run out onto the patio any minute. And out it runs bobbing like a spider on a web in wind.

I crouch walk low the length of the wall of windows tracking the broad lengths of its frenetic lap-dog movement. It dives to grabs a shoe and shakes it wildly, loses it, pounces it again while I on my hindlegs, forelegs propped on the glass watch, feeling my eyes widen at the picture of pupness.