Tristan is Hot

It’s sooooooo…..hot. I waited all day for the fog to roll in and cool off this heatbox that I call a house. I’ve been sitting at the computer all day, working, fan blowing directly on me and I can still feel the trickle of sweat roll down my back.

The dogs lounge and slug around, moving from one bed to the couch to the cool hardwood floor. Why the black cat curls up in a tight ball on the fuzzy dog bed is beyond me, but most of what he does is a mystery. Par for the course.

And then there’s Tristan. He greets me with a huge smile and a full body wag. He pounces on the ball and flings it in the air, hops around while it bounces and pretends that he can’t catch it, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I can’t help but grin as big as him.

Then he bounds back to my side and leans in for a scratch and a pat and a smooch. He’s just happy to be alive. Not a care in the world about the mercury level. He’s got a toy and his human and he’s all good.