She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.

She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.
She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.
She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.
She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.
She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.
She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name.

She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name. It’s a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven’t any right to give him one: he’ll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don’t belong to each other: he’s an independent, and so am I. I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and things belong together. I’m not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it’s like.” She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. -- source link


#truman capote#audrey hepburn#cat#george peppard
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