Instead, I squandered it on going out back to feed the feral cats. Meanwhile, Portia squandered her fifteen minutes chasing birds in the front yard. Now she's gazing pensively out the window, undoubtedly regretting the lost opportunity to go inspect the part of her territory which lies across the street— the area that the neighbors mistakenly believe is their front yards.
Portia's default territory during inclement weather is, of course, my lap, and that's where she'll be headed as soon as she grows tired of the outdoor view. She won't get to stay there for long. Not only must I quickly seize any opportunity that might arise to shift those bins, but there's a yam in the oven that will soon turn to mush if I don't remove it. Then there's cole slaw to be made, and broccoli to steam, and the other components of dinner to be assembled. Without dinner I'd have no excuse to drink another bottle of Guinness. Plus I forgot to eat lunch, so I'm very hungry. I blame the storm.
Vernal equinox my shivering arse!