Foggy Friday

It has been unusually warm here the last few days. There is heavy fog here this morning, and Mom will have to be extra careful on the drive to her day-hunting gig.

Mom says there is a very famous poem about fog and cats, by Carl Sandburg:

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

I am like the fog.

Foggy Bottom

This is what it looks like outside my window. It's foggy. Mom says that's because the ground is cold and the air is warm.  The snow has been melting and it is yukky looking. Last night the temperature did not go below freezing, as it does in winter. The weather guys say that's a "thaw." I guess.

It's blah looking and it makes for a good day to find a nice comfy spot to nap. I will do just that, but you know Mom. She says she has to wash the dishes, fold the laundry and cook the books. I've got to get her to go food hunting too, because there are only four cans of stinky goodness left on my shelf and that's only enough for two days.

***Update: Mom went out this afternoon and refilled my stash of stinky goodness. I am all set. Thank you for your concern.