By seven the bicycle stand had a little chalkboard and a row of bells practicing their indoor voices. Each rider waited while the bell on the handlebars said a very small hello to the garden gate, then tipped toward the porch cat, and only after that was allowed one quiet ding.
We asked at the kiosk. “I used to ring as soon as I left the rack,” said a woman with a loaf in her basket. “Now I wait for the cat. If he is washing a paw, you hold the ding. It makes the whole street nicer.” A boy on a too-tall bike added, “The gate likes it when you use its name. I think it is Gate.”
The rental clerk keeps a notebook of thanks. One line reads, “Bell did not startle the geranium.” Another, in smaller print: “Cat nodded; ride approved.” By evening the same cat was back on the warm stone, taking attendance with his eyes, and the bells lined up again as if they had homework.