When the going gets cold...

This morning, before I crawled out of bed, I noticed that I was quite comfortably curled up under two layers of heavy comforters. That is strange, because usually, when Mrs. Bell gets up, she blasts the heater up to 75, and I wind up kicking my covers off.

Unhappily, I crept out of my warm cocoon to start the day. Stepping into the hallway, I learned: the heater is broken.  In response, I layered up and soldiered on.  For a while, Thunder curled herself up in my lap while I worked on the last part of my letters for my Compassion kids, but then, as I moved too often she disappeared. A few hours later, I noticed she was still gone.  I made a quick glance through her usual haunts, and couldn't find my long, thick, angora haired(even has long fur between her toes...built for snow) cat anywhere.  Whenever the nights get slightly less than frigid, she moves away from me, because she gets too warm.  So imagine my surprise in finding Thunder in my bed,

swaddled in a cave of both my comforters.  She stuck her head out to see what I was doing with my camera, but that facial expression? It says, "Don't even think about messing with my warmth!" Thunder may have the outfit for snow, but like many of us who have grown up in Bakersfield, she has the mindset for desert heat.  Hot and dry, please!

When the going gets cold, the cold crawl back into bed, and scowl.