I thought, while walking through the streets and contrasting present points of view with those possessed ten years ago, that if I had met her three years later, when my desire had been sequestered within a more domestic comportment, that perhaps we would have enjoyed a greater number of dinners featuring delicious cakes and sumptuous cheese sauces, while discussing the details of some ridiculous Canadian political development, like the outcome of an election being decided on positions concerning a long-gun registry, the formal characteristics and agitations built into its presentation, whether or not said presentation was predetermined or spontaneous, or the degrees to which either side of this opposition coalesce with one another in a political aesthetic, quaintly cloistering different ethical stances within picturesque prints illustrating mainstream predictability; and whether or not we should buy a cat. That's what she sort of wanted at the time anyways and I was still dreaming about writing screenplays in Hollywood. In the film we would end up with three cats even though if I remember correctly she wasn't fond of them. She used to glower at them whenever they disturbed the harmony established by a group of birds in her parent's backyard.