And then there's this guy. We never intended to come home with him, but really, what were we going to do? Leave him at the shelter?

Of all the kitties who currently make our home theirs, she's my favorite.

The chaos of swiftly moving water gushing down the streets in Seattle this evening felt like an extension of my work day. An hour later and thirty-five miles to the north, I slowed down enough to notice.

Sometimes I forget that each day is an opportunity to begin. 

Every year I wished for snow on this day.
Today there was frost.
And sunshine.

I wonder sometimes why survival is my paradigm. It was a miracle too.

Yesterday's tears were disconcerting, until he reminded me what day it was.

Cling? Or fly? It's the perpetual question.

It was fun to be able to say, "Take as much as you'd like."

My evening list hadn't accounted for sun. I reacquainted myself with the camera anyway.

If he were human, I'd have been scrambling to explain my tardiness. Instead he got extra cuddles and chin scratches.

Rose has this little, staccato meow she uses to call Nahum to snuggle with her. Most days it works like a charm. When it doesn't, she has to take matters into her own paws.

Every year as the local peaches begin to arrive in the markets and groceries, I wonder, will this be the year? The year that I find the peaches of my childhood?

I haven't yet, but I hope to. Someday.

Summer entertainment, house cat style.

I needed a bit of sparkle this morning.

The napkin basket used to be for napkins. 

I wonder what she's thinking.

Plans

I'd prepared well for my day: map, bus timetable, list of places to visit, notebook, pen, water bottle, book wishlist.

This was not on the list,

but I had to open it. I just had to.

And then *sigh* I read it, cover to cover.

Rain. Snow. Bright sunshine. Blossoms floating on the wind.
Spring is about the only time I enjoy such contradictions.

I've never met a library that didn't feel like home.