Even with the daffodils in full bloom and the fruit trees in blossom, it’s a cold March. I can always tell just how cold by how many cats I find in the bed. At two in the afternoon there were two.
By four, there were three–you have look into the back where my black and cuddly Champ has managed to squeeze behind Al and Fritz. Mind you, this is a one-cat bed, but try to tell it to these guys.
I think poetry is in order for this March day in California.