Miss Fish loves it when I turn the AC on; she was getting hot. I brush about a basketball of fur off of each cat every morning and night. I’m surprised there is any cat left at all, in either case.
The Art of Fielding is a summer book I picked up yesterday; I’ll probably save it for my next trip, which will be St. Louis, Boston, and NYC in just a week.
The birds adjusted to me removing the easy-swig nectar feeders with barely a shrug. I overthought the whole thing. They are used to things coming and going; now there is a tomato, tomorrow a peach; their policy is to hork it down while they see it, which is a good one for a bird. So when I took the Kool-Aid away, they were like, whatever.
Simon likes the newly cooler indoors as well; when Miss Fish allows it (rarely) he joins us at Command Central.
And will you look at who showed up today (Bill nods his head sagely): Alexander, King of Lizards.
He was determined to gain entry to my bedroom. As you can imagine it pained me to deny him.
Plying very strange cargo
Our soul-ships pass by
Don’t worry. That’s just a bird poop on his back.