It’s 6 degrees F out there and the F isn’t for Farenheit. Windchill of -11, which I can testify to as my lips screamed when I went out to feed the birds. It’s 42F in the atrium, where the PC is. I’ve been out here for about an hour, but enough is enough. Going back…

I love watching birds eat.Mama Cardinal hops along,testing each bit with her beakto see if it’s edible. She rollsthem with her tongue and keeps the tasty bits,but gives the best away. Mlady and Dotty love watchingthem also; inches apart, separated by a thin screen,.Dotty twitches. Mama chirpsand she and her young fly away.

I watch Mlady clean herself;she sets a wise example.Her, with tiny, raspy tongue,does not take on eartips to tailall at once. Instead, she doesbut tiny bits at a time.Her gleaming fur is evidencethat her method works.

Writing pen to paperis a satisfying experience.Sitting on the couch withcuppajoe to my leftand a cotton-furred catto my right, I don’t evenmind when Mlady taps atthe pen and otherwise distractsme with her cuteness.Maybe she injects magic,muse between the lines, as is her way.

I pour myself into fantasy worldswith their plots, emotional manipulations;safe spaces to feel.They keep me humanas I drift further from reality.I prefer their limitationsover the uneasy discomfortof awkward face-to-faceswith their wrong reads.People like me are better suitedto our fantasy worlds,odd characters on page and screen.