Summer rain and feline friendship
August was warm and sunny and though it is now September, it's still summer. The weather has not yet produced that unique combination of temperature, light and fragrance that defines the beginning of autumn, besides which autumn is not allowed to start before the Labour Day weekend.
When the clouds moved in yesterday, I was delighted by the surprise that summer rain always brings after a hot spell, though I thought it might signal the onset of "Vancouver weather." The hours or days of rain and the low cloud ceilings constitute the price we pay for the spectacular lushness of the forests, mountains and beaches that surround us.
But the rain cleared off and the sun returned in the afternoon. The porch dried and I sat outside as a rosy dusk fell around me, and remembered a rhyme learned in childhood. "Pink sky at night, sailor's delight" is supposed to augur fine weather.
In the silence, I heard a meow I thought I recognized. It turned out to be the old orange stray that often hangs around. His voice is soft and tentative, unlike that of our Professor Plum, who can be quite vociferous.
At the bottom of the stairs, the orange cat was sitting by the corner of the house. Something moved in the long grass, and he watched intently as our cat appeared around the corner, walking with that stiff-legged silent care that is so uniquely feline. I watched, unnoticed, while our cat interacted with a friend of his own species.
When the clouds moved in yesterday, I was delighted by the surprise that summer rain always brings after a hot spell, though I thought it might signal the onset of "Vancouver weather." The hours or days of rain and the low cloud ceilings constitute the price we pay for the spectacular lushness of the forests, mountains and beaches that surround us.
But the rain cleared off and the sun returned in the afternoon. The porch dried and I sat outside as a rosy dusk fell around me, and remembered a rhyme learned in childhood. "Pink sky at night, sailor's delight" is supposed to augur fine weather.
In the silence, I heard a meow I thought I recognized. It turned out to be the old orange stray that often hangs around. His voice is soft and tentative, unlike that of our Professor Plum, who can be quite vociferous.
At the bottom of the stairs, the orange cat was sitting by the corner of the house. Something moved in the long grass, and he watched intently as our cat appeared around the corner, walking with that stiff-legged silent care that is so uniquely feline. I watched, unnoticed, while our cat interacted with a friend of his own species.