California Cold
It’s California cold (less than 70 degrees Fahrenheit), so I bake cookies to stay warm, and the kittens complain to me after they run across the marble floor. This is their first autumn. For them, the world has always been growing warmer as long as they’ve lived. Until now. We take out the big carpets and roll them under the dining table and the living room furniture. Now there are protected places for tiny paws to run.
I put away the cotton sheets and stock the linen closet with flannel. A down blanket is exchanged for a cotton quilt. The electric blanket is brought out. Space heaters are positioned, but not turned on, not yet. We don our sweaters, search for our umbrellas, organize our jackets, and put away our shorts.
Cups of tea grow cold too fast. I choose socks that cover my ankles. Pacing in circles with a rewarmed mug in my hands helps only a little, so I bake oatmeal cookies with pumpkin seeds, flax, and chia. They smell good while they warm the kitchen. I sit at a counter and work while they bake, a savy black kitten curled in my lap.
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