It’s warm outside–too warm for spring, some unseasonable southern gust of summer. The cats sense it, fighting for their spot on the windowsill. I had the window open all night, listening to the thunderstorm over Lake Michigan, then listening to the birds sing in the morning hours. The cats listen too as they gaze out at all things living outside. They’re indoor cats; we stopped letting our cats go outside decades ago–they kept dying from coyotes and cars.
Our indoor cats wouldn’t know what to do out there. Ironically, they’re designed to be outside. Raised in the domestic yet longing to be outside. I’ll be biking across the country this summer, six weeks of living in a tent. That will be a nice break from the urban, the indoor. Maybe I should take the cats along.