A Romantic and Relaxed Conservatism

Several weeks ago, intent on continuing my pattern of exploring retail locations rather than shopping online, determined to encounter people in the flesh rather than on Zoom, I wandered into a sex shop on Connecticut Avenue. This particular store is named after a biblical reference and can be accessed only through a long staircase to a mezzanine floor. Upon my entrance I was shocked by the presence of an unexpected creature sitting on the counter: a small, gleaming grey cat with green eyes. She sat beyond my reach, three feet behind the cash register. I am accustomed to seeing cats in musty old bookstores, but never guarding a row of collars, leather suspenders, and ball gags. I beckoned her to come closer, but she stared at me indifferently.