The neighbor’s cat waits outside my back door at dusk, green eyes intent on the food bowl shaped like a cat.
The world outside is wet from snowmelt.
Downstairs, neither of us gets the fire roaring. The smell of office paper smoldering makes me sniff. We eat goat cheese and artichoke leaves while I poke newspaper between the logs. A knot on one of the logs smokes steadily. Then a small flame appears.
There are seven logs left.
It is snowing again.
I cover the one daffodil not frozen.
Lucky cat, he’s got two humans that feed him. My cat would be jealous.
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That was my worst fire building experience ever, I think. There must have been some anti-fire forces at work in our fireplace last night.
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Saint,
as soon as my current bag of food runs out, I’m going to stop feeding him. I don’t mind him hanging around during the day, but I don’t like seeing him sit by our back door for hours on end late at night. There are too many foxes and coyotes around her for that to be good for him. Plus, I feel like I’m stealing their cat.
Todd, I think you’re right. The fire gods were against us.
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