10 January 2026 – I have an errand, down by Pacific Central Station, and the skies are not heaving anything at anybody. I am happy indeed as I walk north on Scotia Street.

Even happier when, near East 2nd, I get to moon over yet another growth of fresh winter moss on a curb-side tree.

Oh, I know. This is a perfectly ordinary photo of a perfectly ordinary patch of moss, and either you share my obsession and moon along with me, or you shake your head and move on.

As I also do.

Errand accomplished, weather still surprisingly agreeable, I keep walking north. Cutting through False Creek Flats, I see that this stretch of battered old warehouses is, apparently, finally being demolished.

All the signs suggest this conclusion: windows boarded up, dumpsters out front, bright blue mesh fencing. Down there at the far end, the kind of new-build we can likely expect — structures to welcome more “knowledge industry” activities.

Across Terminal Ave., heading indeed toward the terminal (Pacific Central Station), I look up while waiting for a light to change. It gives me time to admire the vee of SkyTrain tracks overhead.

I also have time to look left, skimming my gaze along the front façade of Pac Central to rest on the cranes beyond…

which mark a New Build worthy of those capital letters: the new St.Paul’s Hospital complex.

Lights change. I cross, I walk, and I pivot around this elegant lamp post shadow at the far train station corner…

to see…

the bulk of the new hospital, now showing us its full dimensions and scale.

One peek at an explanatory billboard, visible through a gap in the fencing…

and I right-turn to follow a pathway to Gate 4, which runs along the far side of the complex.

East side of the building to my left, Trillium Park to my right, and straight ahead — over there in North Van, the far side of Burrard Inlet — snow on the mountain peaks. Plus, you bet, warmly dressed skiers.

Down here at sea level, the Trillium Park soccer players are lightly dressed…

and even I have bare hands and an open jacket.

One last glance at the hospital complex through playground equipment in spiffed-up Trillium Park…

one last salute to all that high-altitude sparkling snow…

and I carry on north & west into Strathcona, heading for Main Street the other side of Chinatown.

My zigzag takes me between two very modest apartment complexes. I’m thinking they’re a bit on the grim side, then slap myself for snobbery. Whatever their aesthetics, they are clean & tidy & details like paint and windows look well-maintained.

But that’s not why I’m showing you this photo. After you pass (or don’t pass) your own judgment on the aesthetics, please note the black blob on the ledge between the centre balcony and the open window.

See it?

It is not a blob.

It is a cat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight — or so I thought — of a cat tumbling out that open window, surely to his death. He does not die. He lands on the ledge. I stand there, waiting for him to start wailing for help. He does not wail. He settles down, toes curled over the front of the ledge, and does what he clearly does on a regular basis. He fills his lungs with fresh outdoors air, and watches the world go by.

I salute him with great respect. He ignores me.

I walk on.