I’m sitting on the floor in the front room of a house in the city of Cheyenne, in Wyoming. On an armchair near me is a sleeping cat. The cat belongs to me, I suppose, insofar as a cat can ‘belong’ to anybody. The armchair also belongs to me, though before it belonged to me it belonged to someone else. I came across it last month at an estate sale I’d wandered into when I’d been out here alone, looking for items for the house.