Moby loves sitting between us, getting his chin scritched. He wraps around my hand and holds on. I gave him a thorough brushing yesterday, got a huge wad of fur off of him. He is not a heavy shedder, but once in a while he seems to be particularly itchy, and will just luxuriate under the brush.
The roses in front of our building. I'm trying to figure out how to do a manual focus on my oh-so-automatic digital camera. The light was strong and strange last evening.
No changes in the leaves, all either green or dead brown. I've seen this happen here before, when the first winter storm just strips the still green leaves, often breaking a lot of branches and taking down whole trees with microburst winds out of the canyons.
It's a lovely cool morning, lots of clouds, some winds. Moby spooked. The blinds blew in on him, and he stares accusingly at me, from the other side of the room now. I'm no help, I just giggle. Poor cat.