On the warm concrete floor of the garage, near where one of the feral cats was lazing, I saw a millipede, its dark carapace gleaming. I touched it with the toe of my shoe, and it slid with a dry rattle. The arthropod was dessicated. I swept it out of the garage with a cloud of dust, as the cat watched indifferently. The carapace went into a patch of oxalis beside the driveway, where it can disintegrate in peace. I wondered if the slow millipede had been caught on the desert of sun-warmed cement mid-journey and the heat had dried it to death, or if perhaps it had just been very old and ready to die anyway.
I pulled a few foxtails from the front lawn, but the bees were out in force, and I've found that busy bees are best left undisturbed so I returned indoors. There I found that Portia was sunning herself on a narrow windowsill, quite content to soak up rays, and not demanding lap time. Now I get to use the computer without the annoyance of having a cat on my lap. Thanks, sunny afternoon. Come again tomorrow.