Cats Know

Left the house at 7:15 this morning for a delicious and delightful walk.

Left the sliders open so the cats could lounge on the screened-in porch - their favorite place.

When I got back both cats were in the house.

It was 55 degrees. 55 goddamn degrees on August 6. I wore a long sleeve shirt over a T-shirt for the walk.

It is not supposed to be 55 degrees in August. Ever. Under any circumstances.

Even the cats know that. They were like: "Why the hell would I go out there where it is cold when I can snuggle up in my impossibly cushy and warm cat bed?"

I am proud to be on the side that believes climate change is real. I am disgusted with the results.

I am getting boxed in. Summer now is a combination of summer - 5 days - and fall - 55 days.

Soon I will have no choice but to move to Arizona. It will be the only warm place left on the planet.

I have revised my demands. I would be happy - I think - if I had one, count 'em - one - consistently warm month during the summer.

Let's say August averaged 85 degrees for the entire month. That would be good.

I require sustained warmth. I need my blood and my bones and my soul to get warm.

I need the freedom that warmth provides.

I need........................., oh screw it. Nobody ever gets what they want anyway.