Sunday swelter

It's hot. So hot that even Musette has better things to do than to lay on my lap, mingling her body heat with mine. The animals are all stretched out, two on the tile, one in a chair, one in the cat hammock, looking like chocolate bars oozing on a summer sidewalk. I'm sipping iced coffee in between bouts of getting out of my chair to break the sweat-inspired seal between my undergarments and my skin. My hair is in a perpetual state of back-of-the-neck dampness and top-of-the-head lifelessness in the low humidity.

The pets do a nice job of handling the heat. The cats move from cool spot to cool spot, leaving one behind as their body heat warms it for a new patch of tile to begin again. The dog looks at us as we head for the backyard for moment, but makes no move to follow. He reminds us that he is a house dog, not a yard dog, and he'll be waiting to see us when we come to our senses and come back indoors. Even Bo has managed to keep his whining for treats to a minimum, since getting a treat requires enough mobility to get to the treat station.

These are the lucky ones. The ones who have parents who, unlike many Bakersfield stalwarts, turn on the air conditioning when the weather heats up. Parents who vigorously check the status of their water dishes, adding an ice cube or two to the dog's bowl at regular intervals to keep the water cool and tasty, and who take Darby for his weekly pet store run in the morning, before the pavement gets hot enough to leave his pads raw and burned from the trot across the parking lot.

It's summer again in Bakersfield.