Novelista

Being in the picture is not as fun as playing with the phone When I wasn’t looking, summer smacked us across the face.  It’s 80 degrees outside and my windows are open.  I sleep with the ceiling fan revolving above me.  The cats spring from window to window in the early morning, spying on birds. Birds start their incessant chirping about 4 am.  The sky lightens above the northeastern edge of the ridge around 4:30.  Oranges and pinks poke through the strange blue sometime after 5.  And the cats pretend that their paws don’t thunder on the carpet covered, old, wood floors. After running around knocks them out, my cat—who found me—sprawls on the cool tile bathroom floor.  He watches to see if I’m going to get up yet.  Once I do, he paws at my slippers as I try to find a place for my feet near the sink. During the warmer weather, I wear thong sandals around the house.  This saves my cat from having to help me tie my shoes.  He follows me into the hall.  And by foll