Can you find the surveillance device in this picture?
The scene is a little patio at the middle of the house. Three doors give onto it, so whatever foot traffic involves shortcuts often crosses it. Here is an enlarged detail showing the device:
My last mention of Roofcat was a year ago in a little poem. He got on my roof one day and never got off. Maybe he likes it up there. I don't. I get on the roof as little as possible. We are different, he and I. For one thing, when Roofcat shakes his head it sounds just like a maraca.
I don't know why I am reporting on Roofcat again. Maybe it's my new theory that head-rattling is his alarm system in response to intruder-surveillance.
Maybe it's because "Roofcat" is a relatively new name. There was an earlier encounter. If I cast my thoughts back another year, fully two Marches back, we simply called him "Visitor". It is a slow process naming a cat who does not care to make friends. I have never petted his head and presumed to call him anything to his face. He would not believe me sincere if I did. Nor would I try to pick him up. As part of early childhood education, I tried handling feral cats and was rewarded with special insight. They show affection by shredding.
We did communicate in a way, early on. Visitor, now Roofcat, would stare at me and stick his tongue out. I tried doing the same but, when I did, something in my upper neck cracked really loud. I considered this a subtle sign of age and maturity. But now, and I share this with fearful reservation, sometimes things crack in there with my tongue still in my head. If this keeps up I too may sound like a maraca by and by.
I have just shaken my head experimentally and resolved to remain off the roof.