Well, we've got a link to Zoe's wonderful hounds, so why not go the whole hog and get some pics of pets right into the blog itself. I think it's nice for people who don't/can't have pets to be able to have access to the pets of others online. That's what the Internet is all about, innit?
So, spending a lot of time with Frances these days [Geoffrey might say 'too much time'] I've been observing of late how she's coping with the heat. And by extension how I cope with the heat. Resident now for 16 years in this fair land, I suppose my first line of attack is to discuss and complain like the best of them. But she can't do that, owing to a fairly basic vocab, if nothing else. So it's her actions that speak louder than that monotone meow. Take a look at the repose... that's a lot of belly fur splayed out on -- yes, you've spotted it too -- a cool bit of pavement. Isn't that clever? You see that's her cooling mechanism, getting as much breeze to waft by that billowy underbelly. Neat, huh? Her expression, just out of the camera's lens, is a cross between 'I can't take too much more of this heat' with 'I can't take too much of him taking pictures of me'. Anyway you look at it, she's not happy. But where the heat has really hit her hard is in the appetite department. Ordinarily, that pussy would be round my back door looking for feeding morning, noon and night. But can she be bothered? Take a look at the Marimekko feed station -- food bowl has unheard of remnants of the morning's 50g of Science Plan Light [tuna flavour]. In colder climes those kibbles would have been vapourised on presentation. And note water dish to the left. Like most of South East England, reserves are low.
'But what about the pet's owner?' I hear all of you crying out from cyberland. How's Kev holding up in these 30-plus afternoons? Well, just like the four legged furry one I have been exposing as much as I can to the elements. But there are other parts of the Internet for
those kinds of pics. It's hitting me hard too, and note this coincidence, in the thirst department. Mainly it's water, and a lot of it. 75cl plastic bottles refilled from the tap litter the flat. But failing that, I've had to resort to unfamiliar beverages, an example of which is the Kaliber on the table. Could my taste for alcohol, wait for it, in the hot summer sun be waning just as the Moggy's taste for those crunchy nuggets be curbed by the July rays?
What's the consensus kids? You have pets? Are they eating less, drinking more, stripping off? And do your own habits -- gastronomic or sartorial -- dovetail with those? You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure this one out: yes, owners do become their pets in the summertime, if not year round.
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So that's my introductory blog. Was it narcissistic enough? Too much information? Not enough? Important to get the tone right for future rants. Or maybe I'll only come to discover that you can misjudge tone in blogland just as in the
real world, whatever that is.
Stay cool, however you want to play it. -Kev
