A funny thing happened getting out of the shower…the heat kicked on. Strange, I thought, that the heat should kick on especially since I’d turned the thermostat way down with the sudden mid-Spring heat wave when the delightful NY temp’s soared past ninety! Okay, sure, temp’s had returned to the norm for Spring mid-seventies and mornings generally rolled in on a cloud of perfect fifties, but the apartment had settled to a perfect sixty-eight. Why the heck had the heat kicked on?

I pulled on my terry robe, thin comfort given the chill that now surely would mean my demise from pneumonia, and shuffled down the hallway to inspect the thermostat. Sure enough, the little red vein of mercury indeed said fifty-five, fifty-five? Was Mother Nature kicking our ass for our sloppy handling, or mishandling, of the oil spill and now plunging us back into winter? Or was this maybe some sort of reverse global warming phenomenon? I felt much like Pam awaking from the infamous dream to find Bobby in the shower…had I dreamt the entire season?

Pish-posh, I thought, there had to be a more rational explanation. I mean, seriously, did anybody really believe that dream episode? I was pondering this wildly off topic question when I took note of a humming coming from the general direction of the kitchen. Shuffling further on down the hallway I discovered Oliver, my sisteen-pound-green-eyed cat perched upon the credenza, his paw resting upon the air conditionder remote.

Completely oblivious to anything beyond the new baby birds tucked securely in their nest ourside the window, there he sat with his paw pressed to the remote setting of fifty-five.

It was hard to be upset given his ingenuity but he could have at least set the damn thing to energy saver mode and started the coffee.