Mr. Jay G. Flash the Orange Cat was sitting directly outside my window this morning, intently wishing me awake to fill his bowl with tasty dry food. The day is spectacular—72 degrees and bright, birds chirping and squirrels eyeballing my tiny red stone patio.
I sleep with the windows open here in Jersey City, something I can't do back in Burbank, a few blocks from the 134. I don't know if it's the aftereffects of learning to appreciate small things during the pandemic or the fact that we are surrounded by nature in the middle of the city but every moment is a kind of urban miracle. Even the rain. Especially the rain. Though I'd had to pull in the umbrella and furniture yesterday so it didn't get soaked, and I'd had to Citi-cycle home in the drizzle last night after dinner with Denise.
This morning I filled the catfood bowl, then sat inside and watched the ferals tackle their breakfast. And as I sat there, a nun in pajamas, bathrobe, and a hair-cap wandered out to pick up the hose and water the convent vegetable garden.
One day I'll go back to Burbank because either office hours or winter will kick in. But for now, just the little details of the Lafayette Game Preserve are about as perfect as it gets.
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