Cats

My main concern has been coming home after one of these 100 degree days and finding that Emmitt has been turned into furry jerky. Didn't happen. You can employ the phrase "Hot enough for ya?" without any irony with him. A few times, he rested in the sink, but I think mainly for variety.


When the mercury dipped under 90, time to huddle up, conserve warmth. The kitty is a generous soul. Not only was he willing to share precious body heat, he would douse me daily with a ration of fur. Nothing but pity for the hairless among us. I typically looked like a wig factory exploded on me.

One of the breakout toys of his visit: the broken popsickle stick. That seemed to fire his imagination, although not as potently as the shoestring that I took from my old sneakers. He did like that and I'd burn about 20 minutes per day flopping that thing around. Exhausting. The picture below is a simulation of what it is like when E is hunting for prey. He's still, then Wham! - as quick as you can say George Michael, he's on it.