Don’t tell me what to love

I don’t know why every time I want to draw a cat lately it ends up basically a Main Coon, except that there must be some emotional consonance between the fluffiness of such a cat and the fluffiness of my very fluffy dog Paul, who is right now greasy and dusty with summer, and badly needs a bath. He hates baths, though. C’est la vie, for us all.

I’m working on a bunch of different projects at the moment, and doing my job, and riding my horse, and watering my garden, and although these are pretty normal things, many of them quite relaxed (podcast, backyard, hose, sunflowers and kale), the days seem very full and also like they are accelerating, so that I begin with a great deal of energy on Monday and find myself at the tail end of Thursday exhausted and watching The Handmaid’s Tale on the couch. Perhaps this is the natural side effect of the beastly hot weather, or knowing that it’s about to get even hotter.

Summer technically begins tomorrow. The birds are going crazy in the yard. There’s a coyote with mange who keeps lounging around our neighborhood, making me sad. I keep calling my senators. I keep eating ice cream.