Monday, November 7, 2011


I am not a fan of this time change, most especially because Duncan and the cats don't quite know what to think of it and have somehow decided to hold me accountable.

First they thought I overslept this morning, which Olive and Pip were more than happy to inform me of at 4:30 by yowling and nuzzling against my cheek. Winnie, ever polite and always a lady, merely jumped from her perch on my hip to the floor then back to my hip, over and over again. Duncan, sleeping beside me in place of Ken, who has taken to the couch to recover from the cold that's been busy trying to infect me, merely stood up, stretched, leaned over my face, snorted once then settled back down on my pillow. I shooed the cats away, pulled the pillow over my head and tried to catch a few more winks but was unable to do so amid their clamoring insistence. The sun was up when I finally crawled from beneath the covers, and as I prepared their dish they were not at all reserved in voicing their displeasure at the lateness of their breakfast.

Twelve hours later when I finally returned home I was greeted by all three cats and Roo sitting in a half moon around the door, stern looks of displeasure on their faces, visible even in the darkness and the sliver of light shining through the door from the breezeway behind me. I stumbled down the hall, my back aching, and attempted to change from my work clothes to my walking attire. While trying to slip out of my khakis, one leg in and one leg out, Olive winding her way around one leg and trying to climb into my pants, Pip decided it was the perfect time to climb up my back, one crisp, sharp paw at a time. Winnie, patient and kind, merely yowled from the doorway as I hopped around the room, trapped between my clothes and Olive with Pip attempting to ride my shoulders for the full eight seconds.

Duncan, unhappy with the darkness and the necessity of the leash and the walk down the parking lot to the place where we cross the street, rather than his free ambling down The Run, eventually softened to me and stayed by my side once we reached the park and I could untether him and let him roam free, far and wide. He seemed to understand the circumstances were beyond my control and forgave me, and even stepped protectively in front of me when we returned home an hour later and were met by a cacophony of cats screaming for their dinner.

I do not like this change in the hours and the new, deep darkness of our walks, but he was like a golden light guiding me through it.

Thankfully it's only seven more weeks until the stupid southern hemisphere loosens its grip on our sun and allows it to creep earlier into our lives and stay later.

1 comment:

Charlie said...

7 weeks. I can hang on for 7 weeks. Barely.