Summer days

Seattle.  The finest city on earth.

Maybe not always.  The sunless skies, the rains of winter, the mud puddles, the rain that is almost snow (but not quite) -- some find all this dreary and depressing.  Even these dreary features, certainly, are charms for those of us who love them -- but they are an acquired taste.

No acquisition of taste necessary for Seattle in July.  Especially this July.  High today of 87, low of 60.  The same range -- highs in the 80s, lows in the 60s -- forecast for the next nine days.

I wake up in the cool of the morning, drink coffee and read the paper outside with just a hint of chill in the air.  It hits 70 before noon.  And then the days just grow warmer and warmer until late afternoon.  It's 86 now (6:15 p.m.).  It will still be 74 at 10 p.m.

I sit on my deck reading.  Temperatures in the mid-80s in Seattle feel warm, no question.  Walk some distance and you'll be perspiring.  But the heat is comfortable, not stultifying.  Like sitting on a lanai in Hawaii, where the temperature is cooler but the humidity is higher.

These are the days we dream of all winter.  Staring across my backyard at the trees that block my view -- in summer -- of the houses on the hill behind my house.  Watching the birds.  Enjoying a lawn that dries up in a pleasantly Seattle fashion -- brown but with a tint of green, soft not brittle.  Pleasant to look at, no longer demanding that it be mowed.

Joined on my deck by my radioactive cat, now more than half way through his post-treatment period of special care.  Iodine-131 has a short half life, and the radioactivity has already lost much of its potency.  Equally important, every time Muldoon uses his litter box, he leaves behind a portion of the radioactive iodine that was injected into him.  Let's be honest -- this coming week, despite the guidelines I was furnished, I'm not going to be particularly troubled by the ever diminishing number of beta particles and gamma rays that he emits.  I have few enough years ahead that I can't be troubled excessively by any increases in my lifetime exposure to radiation.

After Muldoon's initial shock, when he returned home from the veterinarian and discovered that I was keeping him at arm's length, he's no longer concerned about the strength of our relationship.  He's discovered that I no longer scoop him off the bed as soon as he jumps up on it, or push him away when he draws near.  He takes increasing liberties with my person.  The days of cuddling are returning.  He sits beside my chair on the deck, contemplating the backyard, keeping an eye out for any trespassing cats or unsuspecting birds.

The days already are becoming noticeably shorter.  The rains and cold of autumn will come when they will come.  But worrying about it now is like worrying about old age while you're thirty.

These are good times, for man and cat.  July in Seattle.