Social Security

Because it is a million degrees, and Lily has grown increasingly anxious the past few days, today I picked up a couple of frozen marrow bones (cow shanks) from my favorite butcher in the Market. (Let’s not dwell on why the sole vegetarian* in the household purchases most of the meat products.) Frozen marrow bones are like Mastiff pacifiers. Nothing smaller than the lower leg of a cow can keep her occupied for more than 40 minutes, so it’s well worth the $3/lb every once in a while.

The kittehs are all stretched out into long, flat hairballs. Occasionally, one them stirs enough to go sit in the kitchen window for a few minutes, but they inevitably return to the floor. Nigel and Nada haven’t even bothered to try to kill each other, tonight. I think it’s too hot for their usual battle royale.

It’s certainly too hot for me to sleep. My hair is stuck to my neck, the most hateful feeling in the world, and even my bare feet feel overly warm. Last week, I was wearing wool socks and flannel pajamas. This week, I want to crawl into my freezer.

How do people live like this all the time? Or even half the time? The only thing that makes it even nominally enjoyable is knowing that it will cool down next week. It’s too. damn. hot.

On the other hand, the fig and avocado trees are loving the weather, so the retirement plan continues apace. Because global warming is my Social Security, oh, yes. Call me crazy, but we’ll see who’s laughing when I have the first avocado orchard in Seattle, mwah hah hah haaaa… ahem.

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