Quietly, without thunderous fanfare, the rain and cool came. Not a Kansas raging tornado-forming storming, not a Boston foggy drizzle soaker, but an intermittent damp cloth to cool the place beneath. Moby doesn't seem to mind the rain, here. Last place, he would've been under the bed the whole time. Today, not even bothered by the vacuum, sat in the window looking out, then curled to re-fur the sofa I'd finally gotten around to cleaning this morning.
I have been contacted about hopeful changes.