My parent's house was in a middle class neighborhood. Tree lined streets, small houses with a decen front porch and a small garden. Most of our neighbors had one or two cats. Some of them were allowed in the house, others had to stay outside.
The house at the corner belonged to Mrs Abercrombie, a widow in her 60's. She had a very plain front porch with no chairs, plants or flowers. Her white house was what we later called minimalist. She was not into decoration. Her cat was a large black cat, we just called him "the black cat". He was not afraid of humans, he would look at us and wouldn't move an inch. He did not like to be touched.
The second house was always empty, it became a no man territory with wild plants growing everywhere. A couple of times we jumped the fence to find nothing but trash and dusty old stuff. Once we found the body of a dead cat, a ginger tabby was rotting in the back yard. We had never seen him before.
Our neighbors next door were Mr and Mrs Dawson. They had two cats, a male and a female, both tabbies and skittish cats. We could look at them for a few seconds before they run into the house through an open window. They would often stare at us from behind the blinds.
While growing up that was my favorite moment of the day, on my way back home. A true cat walk.