Silk

Moby took over my chair this morning. The silk kimono I picked up at a San Francisco thrift shop many years ago was there, and he is an aficionado of fine natural fabrics. He kindly got up just as I was about to eat my breakfast, prepared to sit on the other little wooden chair, but didn't have to. He's always been a very considerate and cooperative cat. Which isn't a common trait for the species, but Moby has always been a good friend to us, and we've lived so closely for so many years. He is appreciative, and we rarely demand.


Got home, and he is sitting on a bag in the mud room as I came in the back door. He gets up.

"You can stay there," I tell him. He's already wandered off. I suspect now that he was waiting for me.

D is later home, now that he's in the new position. From setting his own hours, he's now on a rather wild schedule. However glad of a job, new jobs suck, and he's finding it a hard transition. He says the days do go fast.

Warm winds all day, 73˚F at the airport, a record since 1965. Leaves scatter from trees, a hot gust before the trough of cold and wet rush through. Expecting rain in the morning, snow tomorrow night.

Snow. Oh, yes.

Sat on the porch and read for a while. A preying mantis appeared on the shrubbery. I welcomed it, and it walked on my hand. We chatted for a while, and I put him/her back on a leaf. Suppose this was one of the same that I met as a hatchling this spring? Perhaps, and welcome.