Originally written 16 September 2019
by Mary Jane Moriarty .
Collected and edited by Martin Coleman .
When I decided to stay in Indianapolis instead of moving back to Boston in 2002 I looked at houses in other neighborhoods—Fletcher Place, Fountain Square, Chatham Arch, and a couple here in Cottage Home. I walked around each area, trying to get a feel for the safety and friendliness of each. It was only in Cottage Home that I felt a welcoming vibe. I tried to make offers on a couple of houses, but was always too late, once by only a couple of hours.
Finally, while walking around I saw this hideous peach-colored hulk with boarded-up windows and doors. “Jeepers! That looks like trouble! Who would want to take that on?” I thought. But I eventually called the number on the sign, and was shown the house, along with another Foundation for Landmark Indiana Properties house in Holy Cross. While mulling over my options, I ended up at the Block Party. There was a man there giving psychic readings. He told me the coming year would be all about home and making a place for myself. The next day I purchased the hideous peach-colored hulk at 602 Highland. I moved in the following October, 2003.
The minute I moved in Anne Sweeney brought me “the perfect cat”. A few days later I was taking a break from unpacking and sitting with the cat on my lap when Anne arrived with another gift – a tiny black kitten. This little guy was El Guapo, who became a neighborhood fixture. He volunteered as the shop cat at Kris Bowman’s store, The Inventorialist, in the Ruskaup building on Dorman Street.
Guapo would stroll over to the shop and make himself at home. At closing time Kris would open his car door and Guapo would jump in for the ride around the corner. Kris would open his door at the corner of North and Highland and Guapo would jump out, ready to demand his dinner after a hard day of charming customers. Here he is with Kris in the shop in the photo to the left.
On January 18, 2012 I was awakened in the wee hours by a loud banging noise. Someone tried to break in by smashing the glass in the front door. It was tempered glass, and after half-a-dozen blows this is all he accomplished:
Just enough to realize there wasn’t a latch to unlock the door. The inside lock needed a key.
So here it is mid-January and I have a hole in my door. Neighbor to the rescue! Mike Lyons came over and measured the opening, got glass cut to fit and installed it that same day. I am eternally grateful.
That was last time someone tried to break in. Maybe because later that year I adopted my my beautiful black dog, Banjo. He really would be useless in a burglary but he looks intimidating. Here he is in April of 2013 having a philosophical discussion with Roxy, the Beck family cat, while we were all working on the shelter in the park.
