From his usual spot at the foot of the bed, in the left corner, the cat lifted his head made eye contact with me and blinked twice. I laid my book down (Julia and Julie, turning out to be quite a disappointment after a wonderful movie and a marvelous "My life in France" read) and listened.
A strong wind is blowing in from the west. At first I thought it was my husband, fallen asleep watching the UK-Florida game (as equally disappointing as the Julie/Julia book) stumbling around seeking the bath room in a semi-conscious state. "Joe!" I called out then remembering the last time catching him only moments before he confused the front door with the door to the bathroom, the cat and I rushed to the living room.
He was safely and peacefully sleeping through the trouncing.
I opened the front door and the cat and I stepped outside. A brilliant half moon lit up half the sky, the other half shrouded with the hastening rain clouds. The wind bringing dry brittle leaves to dance at our feet, the weeping willow tree across the street throwing her long arms up in and down, around and around in a frenzied gyration.
The humidity that I have been living with for months and months blown away to the east. Autumn is making her entrance.
The cat refuses to come back in.
I sit down at the computer and write this post and think about Julia Child and the horrible description of aspic and wonder why anyone would want to eat cold jellied chicken when you can have luscious pan fried chicken with white gravy......
The dishes call, the cat remains outside, the book lies on the bed waiting to be taken back up and Joe talks in his sleep.......