Two Tall Tails

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In the uncanny sort of timing I’ve discovered Minnesota rain sometimes has, the sky seemed to open just as I started across Rebecca’s backyard toward my own. I pulled up the hood of my yellow slicker, folded both arms over the front of the raincoat and ran for my back door, my happy face–covered rubber boots clomping across the wet grass and sending water spraying up onto my jeans. It seemed as though all the rain we hadn’t gotten in April we were now going to get in May.

Inside the porch I shook myself a bit like a damp dog, then eased down the zipper of my jacket. Hercules poked his black and white face out from underneath and looked at me, green eyes narrowed, a sour expression on his face.

I set him down on the porch floor and the little tuxedo cat held up one white-tipped front paw and shook it, followed by the other.

I slipped off my jacket and hung it to drip on a hook by the back door. “There’s no way your feet are wet,” I said, stepping out of my boots. “In case you didn’t notice, your feet didn’t actually touch the grass.”

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