Taking a long walk in a strange—or at least unfamiliar—city is a wonderful way to “discover” stories. I think I recognize a person coming toward me in the distance, but it’s just a general outline or a similar walk. Not the person I know at all. But a cascade of thoughts about that person is sparked and I recall a story. Perhaps it’s worth telling?
The sign in a store window is intriguing. It seems to reach out to me. It’s in Dutch, but I seem to understand it. There’s a story behind each door. A fat orange cat stares out at me, and then another one in another window, and another one crosses a quiet back street, and another one peaks out from underneath a café chair. Is the fat orange cat following me around Amsterdam or is there a fat, orange, feline network connected via a Dutch feline telepathy?
There’s a story THERE… maybe not one I’m prepared to write about our feline overlords. My trip is nearly over. Time to go home and get back to the novel-in-progress and see my grey, tiger cat.