“Hey.” I sit up in bed. Two kittens, serenading me from the shelf where our toothbrushes are plugged in, stop singing and look over at me. The jump down and run to the bed. Four front paws – two snowy white and two stripey brown – come up on the edge of the bed and two adorable kitten faces pop up behind them.
“Shut.” I say, pointing to Oliver.
“Up.” I say, pointing to Obi.
They look disappointed. I noticed that as I plopped back down to the pillow. But last night was the first night in a week that it had cooled down enough to sleep comfortably. See, in Cheyenne there’s only five days out of the year where you really need air conditioning. And this? This is day eight.
The humans are not pleased. And this morning, Kitten Thunder decided that they wanted to be fed early. Like before it was light out early. And they launched a dedicated, widely varied effort of Girl annoyance.
The kittens are suffering too. They do, after all, have heavy fur coats and it doesn’t much matter if they’re naked underneath.
How do I know they’re uncomfortable? I’m trained to read the Feline Heat Index:
As I sat in the living room, dripping, The Boy came in a turned on the ceiling fan. Hey…we have a ceiling fan! Honestly, I’d forgotten. So had Oliver. Over and over and over. And over.
The first night we had it on he walked into the room and hit the deck. “What is that thing!?!” He jumped up on the couch with me and flinched as he looked up. “What is that thing!?!” He dozed off. Then woke with a start. “What is that thing!?!” He took a bath and stopped in a panic, mid-lick. “What is that thing!?!” He Thundered and was toppled by Obi when he stopped short at the rug. “What is that thing!?!”
Whatever that thing is, it feels great to lay under. Nice breeze. Favorite show on OutRadio. And The Girl is just about to – “What is that thing!?!”