It was a hot late afternoon, the kind of weather where the heated air just melts the sunscreen off your face. Because of this warm climate, Duchess, the most aristocratic cat in the neighborhood, was not in the mood to receive visitants; instead she remained in her private boudoir, where air conditioning and other expensive creature comforts accommodated her languorous respite. Not being able to get an audience with Duchess, I thus walked a few blocks over to see if Cornelius was in a more reciprocal mood and willing to put up with guests. Sure enough, I found him in front of his abode, tanning on the road in a soporific fashion. As I approached, he rolled over onto his back and turned his head to look up at me with expecting eyes. This was his way of greeting people and invite them to give him a sedating belly rub.