I hardly get any visitors except for the occasional invisible mailman who drops letters in the mail box addressed to the former resident of the bungalow. There’s the karang guni (rag and bone) lady that comes when I have a bag of empty plastic bottles to hand her. She sells them for a meager sum somewhere in Bekasi. She walks around the subdivision every morning, seven times a week, but I only get to see her by chance. The Sari Roti and Sakura bread vendors – men who sell loaves of bread and buns on bicycle or motorbike – only come when you flag them down, and the lady who irons my clothes comes every other Saturday.
One Wednesday morning delivered an unexpected – but most pleasant – visitor who hardly made noise. I was gazing out of the window when I spotted this mottled bundle of black-grey fur. He must have quietly slipped through the gate or the bushes. I knew he wouldn’t come in the house so I silently watched him from inside. He slept for a while then soaked in the sun after which he washed himself, got up and left to wander again.
It has been days since his last visit and I find myself constantly looking out my window wondering when he’ll drop by again. Next question: shall I leave bowls of Whiskas and fresh water?