I guess I should explain this cat. He is one of two massively fluffy Persians that my friend Kristina, who lives outside of Paris, owns. When I was visiting her in June, the cats spent most of their time in the backyard, either lying in the shade or following us or the chickens around the yard (yes, chickens, and one rooster; don’t get a rooster, they make too much noise.) Later, when I was in the kitchen, this cat walked in through the open back door around to the kitchen where he stood at the closed back door. He didn’t even stop to eat, rub against a leg, nothing. Just in the open door and over to the closed door. At first I told him (in French, of course), “The other door is open. Go out the other door.” But he didn’t listen. He just stood there blanky waiting for someone to open the closed door. He stood there and stood there and stood there, staring up at the door, until I gave in and opened it for him.