Weasel Hearts Entropy

I woke up this morning, as I always do, with the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Not the vague, cosmic something-is-wrongness this time, but the specific physical realization that my feet were somehow higher than my head. Huh. That’s so wrong.

My bedframe broke in the night. It looks like the metal bracket tore away from the wooden headboard on the right side, but I didn’t get a chance to examine it closely. The moment I pulled the mattress off, the cats began to play cowboy and indian in the new, exciting mattress fort I had built just for them. Well I’m glad somebody’s happy. I sat on the floor wrapped in a blanket and schlumped around the internet until it was time to get ready for work. I’ll deal with it tonight.

I’m not a very good grownup.

Last night was the first really cold night in New England this Winter. We’ve caught a break so far, but it was supposed get down to get down to 6ºF overnight. I don’t know if it actually made it that low, but it was cold enough that everything outside made squeaky noises when moved.

When I got to the car, there was a large, handsome ginger tom with a white belly curled up asleep in the driver’s seat. I think cats are chalking hobo signs on the garage. Our eyes met and we shared a thought: “oh, shit.”

I hated to kick anything out into the this weather. I swear, I’d become a Jain if I weren’t so carnivorous. And spiteful. And possessive. And self-absorbed. And…okay, okay…morally and spiritually bankrupt. I opened the door, but he preferred going out the way he’d come in — through the back window of the ragtop (held together in the middle with a twist tie) and out the missing panel in the garage door.

I drove off, jauntily rasping my busted muffler bracket along the pavement, luxuriating in a driver’s seat pre-warmed to 102.5º.

Thanks, moggie. Sorry to be a homeostasis thief.