How easy and at the same time how hard it all is! Earlier this evening I was reflecting how imperatives have slipped away. I had a waste lettuce leaf in my hand, and there was no compelling need to be sure it made its way to compost. All of those old rules are melting. But now, later in the evening, there's a stray cat on the back porch. Bo and Samson alerted me. As I write, they are both still at the inside of the patio door, keening their animosity toward this interloper. I turn on the porch light, and see that he's a gray and white tabby with a very nice face. He looks beefy and well, but he clearly wants to come inside on this stormy winter night. He knows me by sight, though I don't know him. I'm the local soft touch, and he looks me right in the eye, levelly, appealing to me for food and shelter. And I must turn away. If I let him in, the others would soon accept and integrate him as they did one another . . . there's always enough for everyone to eat, and plenty of places to sleep and play. But now, I'm looking for new homes for Bo, Samson and Abby. Mr. Handsome-on-the-backporch needs to understand this. But he doesn't get it.