This morning I woke and rolled off a kitten. Though it had been playing the flounder between a mattress and a snoring animal a hundred times its weight, it stood, decompressed, and purred out. Then it walked up and punched me in the nose, a good right to the man who was keeping him down. The vet has offered his knife for when testicles descend.
And now, just now, the first real snow floating.
Happy birthday to Chris Murray.