"Look at that," I tell her. She stares wordlessly. "It shouldn't be possible. Maybe the Mayans were right, maybe it is endtimes." I continue, ignoring her sniff, her suddenly averted eyes.
Here we are, in what I have decided is a ridiculous drought. I don't watch enough local news to know if it an actual drought. Have you seen the weather reporters lately? They are a weird arrangement of skeletal skinny people who are just too hard to watch. And they are cheerful at 5am. Unforgivable.
But in any case I have announced out loud that we are in a drought. She is unimpressed. A sigh this time. A look around at a bird's call.
It is impossible. Not that it hasn't rained lately, I assume it does this every once in awhile. I have micro irrigation and soaker hoses. I will survive.
The impossible?
We have mosquitoes! How? How has this happened that a dry garden in the middle of two foreclosure properties who haven't seen sprinkler action in months, how am I being bitten by mosquitoes right now? Its not the rainbarrels, there are so many Mosquito Dunks out here I should own stock in the company.
"How?!"
She looks my way impassively. Licks her paw, scratches an ear. She's my neighbor's cat sitting on the fencepost and she seems irritated at me for being a mosquito wuss. "I have fleas bigger than that mosquito, missy," the swish of her tail says. I've been put in my place.
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