Well, it thinks it's trying to rain, but the drizzle and mist are serving to make mud out of the dust on my car without being enthusiastic enough to rinse it clean. So my poor little car looks like it's been paced by the Baja 500 crowd. Yuck.

The neighbor's cat came out from under the car to talk to me while I was bringing the emptied trash cans in from the curb. His name is Cookie. Cookie told me all about the nasty damp and the unpleasant chill in the air and how it was so unfair to one of his special upbringing. He is a gorgeous tortoiseshell and he is very aware that he cuts a fine figure of a cat.

He jumped to the top of the fence and I gave him a shoulder ride across the lawn to the neighbor's house (yes, the godawful yellow one; don't ask). Cookie intertwined his sharp pointies into my sweater and chirruped his thanks. Home at last with dry paws, he sauntered onto the porch, tail high, and shouldered his way through the cat door. His adoring audience had given him his due, and his indignation at the inclement weather was mollified.

My car is still dirty.