Ice Queen

There was frost on the ground this morning. It took me a minute to notice. Standing at the bus stop, I was more interested in the way my breath turned to smoke and curled away from my face. And then I saw the grass across the street. Sometime in the night, it turned white. The puddles in the street had a crust on them, the mailbox was shrouded in a thin sheet of ice. I could feel the cold in my knees, and I bounced on the balls of my feet, hands deep in my gloves.

They say it might snow tonight.

I wonder how my cats are dealing with the cold. Vash has started sleeping under the comforter until about noon. I don’t know how he breathes, there doesn’t seem to be any air, but he’s perfectly content to curl up in the middle of the bed and sleep for hours. Chiana lies back in the burgundy recliner, propped up by black pillows, yawning and blinking whenever Jer or I walk by. And by the time we get home, they’re all slept out and ready to play and we’re ready to sleep. They amuse themselves by chasing each other down the long hallways and skidding to stop on the kitchen floor.

At lunch I found a shopping mall and ordered a gyro. It was tasty, but the back of my throat feels rough now, like I’m about to catch something that I don’t want to catch. Bring on the vitamin C and the fluids. I can’t afford to get sick.