It is past "get your furry butt in the house" time, but one of those nights
that if I were a cat, I'd stay out too.  You look down our street and all
the cats seem to be assemble.  Two tuxedo's next door, one that looks a
solid 25 pounds.  The cats from across the street that are never out in the
day.  The black and gold tortie with 2/3 of a tail who doesn't get along
with the rest of the cats is guarding the entrance to his half of his side
of the street.  The big white with the Siamese markings is wandering out
way.  I think he's a friend of Jake's or Molly's.  They allow him in the
yard.

Molly is on the roof, wandering the eves to try to remember how she gets
back down.  Jake is hiding so I won't catch him and bring him in.

Anyway. I explained to all of them all that Mark's father was in the
hospital and feeling badly, almost bad enough to make the journey we all
make.  And that Mark is worried and sad.  They could both use purrs for
every thing that must be, to be peaceful and calm.  So they have all been
asked to purr while they are looking up at the moon or the mothership of
whatever it is that cats look up to at night.  To spread the call for purrs
and to send them where they are most needed.