The rain started a couple of hours ago. It was an easy rain then it got heavy. Even Nala wouldn’t go outside. She poked her head out the dog door then backed inside. Her head was wet. I’m wearing my sweatshirt.

Nala and Henry are getting along wonderfully. Henry was even licking Nala’s head. They sleep beside each other on the bed leaving me scrunched. Last night Nala and Jack faced each other with the gate between them. The gate has a hole so the cats can move in and out of the room. Jack was maybe three feet from Nala. That gave me hope then later Nala chased Jack.

When I was a kid, my dog Duke, my first ever boxer, was the best protection. Nobody got near the house without Duke’s notice. He ignored passer’s by but loudly announced anybody coming toward our house. Boxers are fierce looking. Duke’s bark was deep. Some people just turned around. Nala doesn’t bark yet or maybe she is just being polite as Henry barks and scares people. They leave boxes away from the door. The two of them, Nala and Henry, stand together looking out the front door surveying their yard, making sure it is safe. Henry gives warning. I always check.

I’m glad I didn’t wash the kitchen floor yesterday, the one sunny day.

I have two cookies, both cranberry-oatmeal. They are the sum total of sweet food in my house. I feel bereft. Where is the chocolate?

My laundry sits in the hall in front of the cellar door. I walk by it several times a day. I give it a quick look. I have no guilt that the laundry has been sitting there close to a week. I still have clothes left, that’s the barometer for needing to do laundry.

When I was in Africa, I didn’t do my laundry so maybe this reluctance started back then when the only way to wash clothes was in a bucket. I saw it done, my impetus for paying to have my laundry washed by someone other than me. That also including ironing. Hand washing makes wrinkles. Charcoal irons are sort of neat, in an old-fashioned way.

Today I have to go out. It would rain.

The earlier sun has become clouds, but it is warmer than the days of rain. It will get as high as 73˚. I’m not even wearing my sweatshirt. This morning I went out to watch the dogs. Nala goes in and out the dog door by herself but still hasn’t realized the varied uses of the backyard, like for peeing. She and Henry are doing just fine together. I make sure Henry always comes first. He grins and wags his whole butt when he is happy. He did that this morning.

I am the servant of animals. Four of them live here. Jack hisses at Nala so I go into the secure cat room and scratch and pet them. I give them treats. I give Henry and Nala treats. Each of the dogs is on medication so I hide their pills in turkey. The cats I feed a couple of times a day. The dogs eat once. I clean litter boxes every day. I wish my house were as clean.

This morning I decided I need a lot of things. I need to do my laundry. I need to take a shower. I need to vacuum my house. I need peanut butter.

When I was a kid, my life was simple. Most kids’ lives were. Much of the year, I had school. I had church on Sunday. We had family dinners and supper every night. The rest of the time was mine. In summer almost all the time was mine. It was filled with playing with friends, bike riding, watching TV mostly in the evening, trips to the library and family jaunts to the drive-in and the beach. Many days I spent at the playground playing softball and tennis, games like checkers and horseshoes and doing crafts. Such was my life. It mostly had no complications, no demands and no responsibilities. School and church were the only exceptions. I had to go to both.

My life right now is so very quiet. Mostly I’m at home but being home day after day, I sometimes get bored. That’s when I clean. Today I’m cleaning. The dust rises into the air when I walk. My kitchen floor is filled with paw prints. Two dogs do make a bit of a mess after being outside in the rain. I can write my name in the dust on the table. I blame the pollen though it’s gone now. I could also blame the animals. They shed. Mostly, I think, actually I know, my inertia is to blame. If I were living in the Victorian Age, it would be called malaise. I’d be sitting on the lounge with the back of hand on my forehead and looking anguished. Instead, I vacuum.