Sun on the clay tiles of the roof across from us. Clay tiles look so beautiful. J points out that they are heavy. And we do have a house that collects snow on the roof. True, although I reflect that some houses in the Swiss alps have clay tile roofs. Repair to Google and am informed that some buildings require reinforcement to deal with the weight but that a tile roof can last for fifty years. There’s that weasel word can. And, of course, the likelihood that we ourselves will not last for fifty years.
Cats distinctly unhappy with the new cat food from the village supermarket. Only Noc finishes his, which may go some way toward explaining why Noc is bigger and stronger than the others. Also more placid, the most likely to be found napping in the cardboard box Jamie found for them. Yowl, who could most use the nutrition, least happy with the provisions, and yowls his complaint endlessly. Actually, the kindest course would probably be to provide minimal rations so that they were forced to engage in more foraging. We won’t be here forever and they will be obliged to continue their previous lives as street cats. Which to some extent they do now.
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