These warm days are slowing all of us down. Here are Wendy and Possum in a typical scene from yesterday:
They have thick, fluffy coats and I feel sorry for them in this hot weather. (I feel sorry for me, too, but we're just too lazy to get our air conditioners from my mother-in-law's garage. And besides, it's supposed to cool off tomorrow.)
The kittens don't know what summer is. They were born last July; babies need to be kept very warm, so this is their first experience of too-hot. Even though they were born outdoors to wild mothers, they seem to know that air conditioning exists. And that we don't have any.
So they blame me for the temperature. I get meaningful glares from Wendy and pleading looks from Possum, who wishes I would turn down the world's thermostat. I control the universe, after all. It's interesting that they're smart enough to know that while the rest of you still don't get it.
The Turbo Star Chaser isn't getting much of a workout these days. The toy basket, there beside Wendy, is full. Their favorite toy is a plastic spiral binding — not the rainbow-colored, super-long, real-fur ferret I bought them for $5 at Brookline Grooming. I choose toys on the basis of how cute Wendy will look carrying them in her mouth. I wonder why they love that crappy binder so much. It's "crunchy," I guess. I should be buying their toys at Staples.
I hope things cool down, because Possum's theatrical displays of heat exhaustion are breaking my heart and worrying Wendy: