Birds are not dropping from the sky with heat stroke, but I keep expecting them to do so. Or maybe the woodpecker on the back porch wasn't brought by Farah, but died mid-flight. The kittens haven't touched it, and neither has Farah. But perhaps the cats just don't feel like eating a heavy meal in this heat. I certainly don't, and there's stuff in the refrigerator that's going to go bad if I don't devour it soon.
The days won't be getting any cooler this week, so I guess I'd better do something to work up an appetite. That would not be burying the dead woodpecker, although that will have to be done soon as well. The feathered cadaver will soon begin attracting flies and ants. All I really want right now is a bottle of beer and a nap.
As usually happens toward the end of June, I can't believe I was ever eager for summer to arrive.