From upstairs I hear the rain beat machine-gun drops onto our retractable awning. I run down to check; the flapping awning threatens to levitate our townhouse. As fast as I can I crank it up to safety, grab the patio-chair cushions, and duck back inside before I get drenched. Just in time.
I set the cushions on the kitchen floor and head back upstairs to continue writing.
Some time later, the storm passes. I need a break, and the dogs need a walk.
I find FLD Mike in the kitchen, comfortably curled up on the cushions. He raises his head, sighs, and nestles his chin back into the crook of his leg. Dare I disturb his majesty? You bet--Come on, Mike, let's go!