The Literate Kitty

Anyone who’s ever been in the market for a house--and almost certainly balked at the exorbitant asking prices--has doubtless been treated to the same tired bit of “wisdom” from his or her desperately-earnest realtor: “Well, yes... but what you’re really paying for is the neighborhood! ” (as if that somehow makes x-ridiculous-amount more feasible, more doable). In reality, what the homeowner or renter usually finds is something rather different--that there’s no such thing as a problem-free property, regardless of the neighborhood. (Whether it’s an HVAC or plumbing issue, an appliance on the blink, a leaky roof, a flooded basement, termites or other pesky bugs, obnoxious neighbors, or whatever, there’s always something going wrong or otherwise making life in one’s domicile less-than-peachy-keen.) That being the case, it may not seem that following a cross-segment of ordinary people, going about their everyday lives, could be so fascinating... yet in crime fiction and suspe...

Say what you will about Mr. Rogers* (yeah, I giggled plenty at those ghastly cardigans and nerdy lace-up shoes of his, too), but the man knew something about being neighborly. To him, it had nothing to do with what you wore (teehee), drove, or did for a living; it meant being friendly and nice to the people next door or down the street... waving and stopping to chat, making the effort to learn pets’ and people’s names, even having a cup of sugar at the ready to lend during baking emergencies.  Things have changed a lot since Mr. Rogers first went on TV showing good little boys and girls around his perfect neighborhood, though. We pick up stakes and move (often, before we’ve even met those who live on either side of us); we keep odd hours (not exactly conducive to friendly coffee klatches); and, while technology has given us the ability to interact with people all around the globe... it has also pretty much done away with the desire for all but the most strictly-necessary c...

Nanny, butler, maid, footman, valet, housekeeper, cook, chauffeur, gardener, au pair, aide... the titles may change over time, but the duties for those who toil away in the households of the rich and privileged remain much the same. And, though we might euphemistically lump them together under the more-palatable “domestic workers” (in our must-above-all-else-be-P.C. world), the truth is they’re still servants, whose jobs involve waiting on others positioned higher up the social ladder. No one is apt to think there’s much equality between the two groups--particularly not the “haves” (those who have more of everything, whether money, status, or power) nor their household staffs (employed to do the menial work). The domestic hires have at their disposal one (potentially) very useful tool, however: knowledge , of all the little habits, eccentricities, and secrets of their employers (and something which the employers are probably mostly unawares they possess). What might someon...

What do any of us really know about our neighbors... or more to the point, what do we think we know about them? This is a question I’ve had (alarming) reason to consider recently, and the answer, I fear, is that we don’t know very much, at all. It wasn’t always like this; in the past, people tended to stay in one place longer, which gave them more opportunity (and reason) to get to know their neighbors better.  That's all changed over the last half-century, though; we’re constantly on the move, and the bulk of our communications occur electronically.  All those getting-to-know-you cliches (which I'm only familiar with from Classic TV) like summer block parties, visits from Welcome Wagon ladies bearing casseroles and cakes, and cozy afternoon coffee klatsches are now just quaint relics of a bygone era.  As for borrowing a cup of sugar (a couple of eggs, milk, whatever ) from the near-total stranger down the hall (or across the street)? Not only is that a totally for...