Frivolous

Last night was The Hotness (as I've heard the kids say in a different context) but in a not at all good way. I feel sunburned, just sitting here in the house. But then, maybe Sluggo has developed a radiation leak in his monitor.

Speaking of the kids, I see them about the town with their heads all shaved for summer. I get a bit envious of their ability to bring off that look. If I were to shave my head, I'd just look like an old, bald guy. Plus, I'd get an actual sunburn the minute I went outdoors. The good thing about merely feeling as though you have a sunburn is that you don't peel. A peeling head would be a disgusting sight. It would be like one of those old vinyl car tops that hasn't been properly maintained.

It might be the heat, but something has put me in a giddy mood tonight. I'm sure I'll be unable to sleep. I keep chuckling for no apparent reason. By rights, I ought to be depressed, since I spent much of the night watching home improvement shows on cable, the house being to hot to allow Sluggo to function for more than a few minutes. Seeing people make lampshades with beads, and mosaic coffee tables, and do horrendous paint effects on their poor, unoffending walls could be expected to make me weep, but it has had the opposite effect. Oh, the red living room! It's to die from!

Then, while commenting on an entry on my friends page, I had occasion to use Google, which found for me a page all about primate testicle sizes, written in dense academic language. Maybe that's what's making me chuckle. My inner Beavis is to blame, I'm sure.

Evening

I enjoy these evenings when a mottling of vaporous clouds makes the dusky sky look like parchment. Though heat lingers tonight, there is a slight breeze bringing the promise of cooler air. There is a bonus of the waxing crescent moon, softly blurred by the clouds. Just as the first katydid fires up its noisy little instrument, the cat emerges from the gathering darkness, yawns and meows a greeting. She wants dinner.

Now that she is the only cat, Sugar's diet is less diverse than it was when she could share a can with Sunni, and I know she won't be pleased with the remains of the same food she had this morning. In the kitchen, she hops onto a chair and watches me fill a dish. I place it on the floor, and she jumps down to sniff it, then gives me that look. Then she goes off to eat some of the dry food in her other bowl. Spoiled kitty. She might put her hunting skills to use and have something fresh if she would catch whatever rodent is still making holes in the front yard. Or, she could rid me of that katydid. But she is a cat who is independent in all things save feeding. She might not be interested in human laps, but our skill with opening tins she considers proof of our obligation to provide her with an ample supply of all the delicacies to which she is entitled by virtue of her willingness to tolerate our presence in her house; Salmon, for example, or some beef, flavored with a bit of the liver. She must be disgusted with my failings as a servant.

After the cat is unfed to her dissatisfaction, I go out to enjoy the full darkness. The katydid is still at it, and the moon is now hiding among the pine branches. The breeze has stiffened a bit, the air is cooler and fresher, and the parchment effect of the sky is barely discernable. The town has not yet fallen silent. An engine roars and tires squeal as some impatient motorist rushes from some nearby side street into the main road. I wonder where there is to rush to in this fading world?