Yesterday, the sun was shining; the temperature (both real and feels-like), well above freezing.
It was time to pull out summer running gear, which I did with only the slightest of hesitation. One can usually turn back around and change clothes, if the weather teases you as it did to our running club.
Into the living room I walked to get my phone, sunglasses and shoes. The cat was sitting, loaflike, on the couch, and I started to mock him for his sedentary tendencies ...
... and then I saw the look on his face. Yes, my cat was making a face, one usually reserved for squirrels and small children, at me: a mix of horror and disgust.
You can call me a crazy cat lady, but I swear he was revolted by my survivor-of-a-Midwest-winter legs. Their blinding whiteness and visible dryness offended his eyes.
And once I got outside and pulled my sunglasses on, I too sneaked a fearful glance at my gams. Not even tinted lenses could hide how pale they were.
But on the plus side, at least they match my feet (which won't be true after a few months of wearing socks and shorts this summer).