At least in the words of some of the dimmer meteorologists, from time to time.

So irrationally temperate in fact that I have the screen door bringing in outside air right now.

That’s a glory. Everything else is kind of a wreck.

But as the week turns over that should begin to change.

Monday they say we’ll just crack 70 degrees, unseasonable for February by any metric, and that will also symbolize the sound of the groaning sputtering spigots beginning to run free with a modest infusion of monthly cash.

There’s one overflow card and one almost tardy utility to address with the bounty.

Tuesday the kittens get their last shots.

Thus Wednesday they can ship out to the depot in Flag. I will miss them. But I’ll be glad of it anyway

because Thursday I am expected to be able to vacuum a pound of kicked litter out of the front room and reclaim it in the name of its intended purposes. (The trashed rug to be presumably dealt with properly at some date yet to be announced.)

And completing the full daily ritual can thus become a matter of focus and hard work, rather than an insurmountable near-impossibility.

So goes the theory.