Mercenaries

My cats only love me for my body heat.

Really.

When the weather's cold out, they're all over me at night. I wake up in the morning in exactly the same position I was when I went to sleep, I'm so weighted down with kittehs at ankle, shin, and side.

But now that the balmy breezes blow and the temperature's heading upwards, Rhadwen, Gwenith, and Huw are nowhere to be found when dusk spreads its humid covers over the land. Or if they are anywhere near, it's in the windowsill, blocking the ventilation.

Damn o sob!

Well, at least my goggie Llewellyn still loves me. He's faithfully on the bedroom floor every night now.

Come to think about it, though--why didn't he sleep there in the cold of winter, when his body heat would have come in handy?

So whom was I calling mercenary . . . ?