I've been waiting patiently for it to be warm enough to take my laptop outside and write. Being as how I have more hours in my day right now than I used to, I can devote it to getting all the little things out of my head and into print.
I have my iced coffee, my notepad, a book, and my little laptop all ready to go. The sun was shining when I got home from my hike and I couldn't wait to get curled up on my deck chair and enjoy my afternoon.
How long does it take someone to get all their gear together? Five minutes? Ten? It went from a lovely warm day to cool enough to snow in about five minutes. That's fine, I'll grab a blanket and wait for it to warm up.
That was 20 minutes ago. Now little flake of white fluff are floating down from above. It's almost June. WHY IS IT STILL SNOWING!?!?! We had plenty of that over the last eight months, my car is still recovering from the black ice we ran over after Christmas. I just want to sit in the warmth and enjoy some sun for a change.
Don't get me wrong, I love winter. Hockey on a pond, snowshoeing up my favorite hiking trails, and hot cocoa by the fire pit. It's a big motivator for living in the mountains. But sometimes, I just want to curl up outside and enjoy nature in my pajamas, not a parka.
Bleh, now the wind has kicked up. I'm going inside.
There are some days where insomnia and a desire to not have a sleeping pill hang over can be worth the sleep deprivation.
In my apartment is a little black cat named Maggie. Maybe 8lbs at most, having been the runt of one's litter, she's terrified of Cooper, the 75lbs mutt I brought home last month. She's done nothing but hiss and hide under the bed. The other cat, Maurice, has no issues with the dog and will team up with the rabbit to terrorize the poor thing. Maggie is so not interested in him. Or, so I thought.
As I'm lying in bed listening to the sound of the rain and reorganizing my hard drive, I see a tiny little head pop up from under the bed. Oh? Has Maggie decided she's going to emerge and be friendly? I merely lie in bed and watch as she creeps over to the slumbering dog and sits in front of his face.
I will now point out that I named her after Margaret Thatcher two years ago in an attempt to draw some humor into my father's life. And it was a very appropriate name for the little beast.
She raises her paw and bats him on the nose. No claws, but hard enough to make him jump and growl at her.
Great, it's the Falklands war in my bed. She looks at me, hisses, and darts under the bed to whine. Cooper, meanwhile, has decided that he wants to play too and is trying to stuff himself in the six inch gap between the floor and the frame. Unsuccessfully.
And now he's stuck. The little girl knew exactly what she was at, the poor dog. Leaving me to drag his sorry hide from under the bed and outside for a walk. Did I mention it's raining?
Separate names with a comma.