In honor of July, I bring you a photographic essay documenting the behavior of cats on a 92-degree day:
The series concludes with Constant M.* telling me to knock it off with the picture-taking and rub her belly already.
Actually, it's cooler today, but we should be back up into the 90s this weekend. And just in time for the heat, I've finished my shawl:
Like the patrician tilt of my chin?
I'm also working on the paper-making, as this picture demonstrates:
Letting the sheets dry against glass gives them a smoother finish for writing, or so I have read. (I haven't actually written on them yet.)
In other news, I suppose I ought to go to the gym. At what point in my life does that requirement go away?
*A sudden, irrational fear that the eminent C.M.--whose work I respect--would find this page and be bothered by my pun has prompted me to abbreviate the cat's moniker.