My elderly neighbour just knocked on the door to check and see if I was okay. He said he hadn’t seen me leave the house lately and thought I might be sick. He said he noticed the lights were on till the early morning, but that didn’t mean anything; people go away and leave their lights on to fool robbers. He offered to bring me food. This was very sweet. He walks with a cane, has had multiple strokes, has glaucoma. But then I became alarmed: Without being conscious of my decline I have become a figure of public charity, a lost soul. In the evenings now I see the ghost of my old cat Hobbes prowling in the backyard.