There is one true sign that the seasons have changed, one piece of incontrovertible proof. It’s not the first snow fall. It’s not the leaves turning color. It’s not the Halloween decorations on display only just barely crowding out the red and green tide of Christmas not far behind.
It’s the cat.
As soon as the temperature drops, the cat, who all summer only comes to cuddle when I’m trying to get anything done on the computer, cannot get enough of me. I might be lounging on the couch in some twisted, yoga-esque position and he’ll twist into something equally pretzel-like, all in the name of leeching heat.
As for writing … today was a strange day. After the caffeine buzz from Saturday that sent me to bed with lead eyelids and a heavy head, I woke at 2 a.m. and found myself pressed between a snoring Todd, and stretched dog, and the heat-leech who slept solid as a medicine ball on my legs. With what room I had, I tossed and turned from then on and pulled myself from bed at 7:45 a.m. An anesthetizingly slow day at work didn’t help. I bailed out on Todd’s late-night visit with family, and came to bed early, though it’s nearly 10:00 p.m. Time to put the computer away, go to bed. Dog’s already here. I’m only two animals short.
Tomorrow I type in the two pages I have written while at work, and, with any luck, I’ll have more material after tomorrow’s shift. For now, I’m going to sleep to the sound of the rain.