While on a Saturday stroll, I spotted Grisha, which is the Russian nickname for Gregory, sunning himself on his Lenox Ave stoop. Having read a lot of Dostoyevsky, I expected him to greet me with a steely smile, bow- but come down so low as to offend me, then throw himself at my feet begging my forgiveness, and when I accepted, smile upon it ironically.

However, Grisha did none of that. He basically looked on with a disinterested contentment like any good cat.