It's 89 degrees, up 20 degrees from yesterday's high. The humidity is a nose- and eye-irritating 8%. We went from winter to summer in 24 hours, thanks to the Santa Ana winds.

I've dug out tank tops and shorts and am about to switch to the summer regime of showering in late afternoon, to cool down for sleep.

One cat is asleep, curled up in the bathroom sink; the other is stretched out, maximum contact with the tiled floor, comfortable because it is still cool underground.

A few more days of this and the heat will radiate from the very structure of the house itself, the baked clay earth, the brick walkway and even the foundation of the house, leaving no area cool enough for comfort, not day, not night.

I hate this part of southern California in the summer and often wonder why I ever moved away from the beach community. Madness, I suppose. I was looking for a house to buy, it was October (the nicest time of year), and I could not imagine how insanely hot it would get only a few miles inland during the worst of the Santa Anas (and the realtor was not about to tell me of course).

I noticed just now that the next door neighbor's labrador retriever "accidentally" jumped into their pool. He seems quite happy at the moment, dripping wet and lounging in the shade of the patio. He has that self-satified look that says, "oh, yeah." If he were a human, he'd be sipping an iced tea.