Martha was my neighbor, and one of the nice ones at that.

After all the many years of living in the same street, I've seen new buildings prop up,

but never fall down. I used to get a nice view of the

trees of the park, back when there was a park. Now it's more of a plaza with concrete and gazebos

that people nowadays seem to like. From all of the neighbors that have come and gone, I remember but a few of them.

But if we ignore the ones that I have not called the police on, we stay with Martha.

She would walk up and down the street quite often.

I don't think she kept her refrigerator stocked up since she would always do the same

walk to the bakery, then to the marketplace, before going off to work. She'd come back with

a long piece of bread that had been picked at, probably from pinching away pieces to give to the

many cats that she fed along the way.

Martha did have one problem, however, and I think I have to tell you about it in the most careful way possible, since people can get very passionate about this topic.

It was the cats.

She had to many of them.

Not that they made noise or stank or anything.

They were actually quite well trained.

Every once in a while you'd hear a cat fight with another one,

but the fights were brief and didn't seem to bother anybody.

I'd start counting them at one point,

and I still remember Martha laughing at me when I asked how many she had.

Oh, come on, you know I've lost count, she said.

But if we had to come up with a number, I'd guess they were around ten.

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