Portia is coming in from her nightly jaunts with nettles in her fur. She doesn't pick up as many as Alger does, but her fur is longer and the nettles bury themselves deep, making them difficult to comb out. She doesn't like being combed, either, so I usually end up with a few kitty scratches, along with a few tiny nettle thorns stuck in my hands. I'll be glad when the rains come and wash those nasty little plants clean of their weapons.
Wednesday is expected to stay below 70 degrees all day, and it could drop into the high 40s that night. I'll be making the first hot chocolate of fall, and it isn't even fall yet. Oh, and cinnamon toast. There must be cinnamon toast with the first hot chocolate.
Mmmm, the pearness of the pears, the Septemberness of the September night.