Sunday, June 21, 2009

The Signs of Summer

There's a cicada near my front porch singing, "I'm Just a Love Machine." Judging by his lack of action, none of the female cicadas are buying his line. I think he is less Smoky Robinson; more the guy on the dance floor who warbles the words while dancing with you.

Although I've already combed out many pounds of their hair, my cats are still shedding at an amazing rate. Yet, they are not going bald. I think cat hair is how new matter is generated in our universe. I think it's the best way to explain how such relatively little feline bodies produce such vast quantities of hair. The hair is coming through a worm hole to another dimension.

It is still dark outside, but I'm already sweaty and hot. I mean, dewy and glistening.

Ah, Summer in Texas.



  1. You made me smile! My big fluffy fur ball died last September
    after seeing me through rehab and getting us all back home.
    Maned and long haired, he wore/bore as much as he shed. My short hair likes combing for its scratch/massage/attention-- i get nothing out. I miss being on the floor with him and chasing them through the grass.

  2. My condolences on the death of your big, fluffy fur ball. My first cat was with me for almost 17 years, since I was 23. He was with me through life's highs, and lows. I still miss him. My three fur balls are all short hair. The little lady doesn't shed much, and doesn't like being combed. The two big boys shed like crazy, and love - love - love being combed.