Saturday, 18 September 2004 | Communication

The capital letter E, formed with green clay, is stuck to the front door of my apartment. It's about an inch tall and is positioned at eye-level. I think there was a letter following the E, but it fell to the floor into an unreadable mass. I have no idea what it means or who put it there; regardless, I've left it up. Perhaps a new letter will come tomorrow, spelling a message out one character at a time, like a patient Oujia board; a ransom note. I sort of doubt it though.

I've been feeding the stray cat daily. Sometimes I lower food into the alley (I copied my neighbor's contraption, I must admit), and sometimes I hand deliver it to her, walking past the trash and down the metal stairs, into a moat made of concrete. When she greets me at my door, I put food in a bowl in the hallway, leaving it there overnight. One morning, when retrieving the bowl, I found it had been emptied of food but had been replenished with a single shiny copper penny. I don't know what that means either.