Maybe there will be thunderstorms to dampen the high forests, or to set them alight. Fire season has already begun south of the Tehachapis. It usually doesn't arrive here until a month or two later. Little was burned nearby last year, and the rainy spring has brought additional growth of brush. There is considerable potential for a bad local fire year. In such a year as this, I'm glad that I now only have one cat to look after. When there were four, I couldn't imagine how I would ever be able to round them all up in the event of an evacuation.
But there are no fires tonight. The air has even begun to smell a bit damp. I've let the cat out into the dim light which has begun to reveal the empty street, the dark houses, the details of the trees and bushes, the individual boards of fences, and the first hint of color in the flowers. In mild weather, she likes to spend the hour before the town awakes outside, examining the traces left by passing raccoons and stray tom cats, and unnerving the early-rising birds. That cat would be quite displeased if she had to live in a place where she couldn't be allowed outside. In an hour or so, I'll find her napping in a chair on the back porch, waiting to be let in for breakfast, before a hard day of further napping, indoors and out of the heat. Summer is a good season for an indulged cat. I wish I liked it as much.
