The heat wave has abated, THANK BABY JEBUS! I was able to sleep with a sheet on me, which is more than I've been able to bear for the last week. This is a perversion of my true nature and preference, which is sort of an inverse Princess and the Pea: I love a ton of bedding and a cold room.
Poor Dinsdale - giant blob of fur on the right - has not been happy. Now that it's not so hot, perhaps he'll stop peeing in the basement, which then brings the smell up through the forced air. 103 (although I spoke to someone today who said it was closer to 107) degrees, with a piquant (not) smattering of cat piss = a horror movie. Even though I found the source and eradicated it, I am now haunted by the occasional spectral whiff, which results in me getting down on my knees and sniffing like a pig for truffles, trying to locate the source and then I realize I'm smelling coffee grounds or something else that has the vaguest whiff of cat pee.
The chickens are out of control. I've now shut the door or gate on Beulah's head numerous times as she's often right behind me and I don't know it. Resistance is futile: I've created these monsters, so I let them come in the kitchen and fix them a snack. Lulu is familiar with this post. Butters is still uncertain and shy, and sometimes very unchickenlike. It's like she's found herself in this chicken body but doesn't have the slightest idea on how to get chicky with it (sorry). She
is showing a propensity for bug catching. Buggers? Little Butters/Buggers will come up and periodically perch on the arm of my chair, that's when I get these close up shots. I always take these opportunities to try and gently drill in the lesson that my juicy eyes are not food.
Last night I came out and luxuriated in the nice cool evening air and around 8, my Gladys Kravitz ears were suddenly assaulted with some hammering and stapling. It turned out to be a couple of roofers working on the old Masonic Temple down the alley. Another dividend in cooler weather: I become a little more tolerent. These poor fuckers were probably either trying to get the work done without being killed by heat, or they were working two jobs, or numerous reasons, not one of them being specifically to annoy that crotchedy old lady with the chickens. And then something marvelous happened: I realized there was a call and response, sometimes a harmonizing, happening with their tools. I wish I'd of had the energy to wander down there and record it. As it was, it felt like a reward for keeping my cool.
Poor Dinsdale - giant blob of fur on the right - has not been happy. Now that it's not so hot, perhaps he'll stop peeing in the basement, which then brings the smell up through the forced air. 103 (although I spoke to someone today who said it was closer to 107) degrees, with a piquant (not) smattering of cat piss = a horror movie. Even though I found the source and eradicated it, I am now haunted by the occasional spectral whiff, which results in me getting down on my knees and sniffing like a pig for truffles, trying to locate the source and then I realize I'm smelling coffee grounds or something else that has the vaguest whiff of cat pee. 
Last night I came out and luxuriated in the nice cool evening air and around 8, my Gladys Kravitz ears were suddenly assaulted with some hammering and stapling. It turned out to be a couple of roofers working on the old Masonic Temple down the alley. Another dividend in cooler weather: I become a little more tolerent. These poor fuckers were probably either trying to get the work done without being killed by heat, or they were working two jobs, or numerous reasons, not one of them being specifically to annoy that crotchedy old lady with the chickens. And then something marvelous happened: I realized there was a call and response, sometimes a harmonizing, happening with their tools. I wish I'd of had the energy to wander down there and record it. As it was, it felt like a reward for keeping my cool.
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