Dust Kitties

I was out in the yard with Gibson this evening but I think we are getting smoke from the distant fires so it wasn’t wonderful. The last cat and I are coming to an understanding. I watch over him as the eagles circle and he doesn’t try to kill me as I stumble through the yard.

So I go into the house and my face nose is itching something fierce. We’ve had the house open at night until you feel the dust underfoot each morning. I need to wipe stuff down big time. Try to get Wu to do it but my 21-year-old houseguest doesn’t get the concept. He’s pro shoes and I’m for bare feet.

Oh gosh, maybe the furnace filter needs to be checked. Hubbin says we have an extra. I go down there and the thing is so full of fuzzies it’s giving birth to kittens. I carefully, I think, take the dirty one upstairs. I trip on the stairs, even with my steady bare feet, and the filter flies up and lands with a loud flat thud on the wood floor above me. Oh, that’s bad, so bad. So bad.