As I approach the Grove, I spot an orange cat on the look out by the gate. It fixes me with an unrelenting stare. What is behind that stare? Aggression, suspicion..? Or the need for affection? I draw level with the cat; it emits a single miaow, and rolls over on it back. Having made this obeisance, it gets to its feet and winds itself round my legs, in a slow and sinuous dance.
In the paper: a photograph of an alligator. It is surprising that such a powerful, remorselessly aggressive creature, should, by virtue of its snaggle teeth, appear to be both terrifying and comically benign.
In the market: the black (well, very nearly black) viola seedlings, which I buy every year, and plant in a wide, clay pot outside the front door.