No January Thaw In Swingle Canyon For Sylvia

Sylvia
By Anne Sullivan

"Leave me alone,” I yelled at Sylvia who was pulling on my pajama leg. “I’m functioning. After all, I did Christmas.”
“Christmas is not done until Christmas is put away,” mumbled Sylvia through the pajama leg.
“It’s still January,” I said, pulling my pajama out of her mouth. “Our Christmas tree is so pretty. I need time to enjoy it. And I also need some down time.”
“Down time is one thing but sitting all day in your chair is OUT time. Look at the clock. It’s almost 10 a.m. The day is half done. You haven’t even had breakfast.”
I gave her a filthy look. “What are you complaining about? You got your breakfast, didn’t you?”
“Yes, both Gordo and I had a very tasty breakfast, thank you, but I can’t stand to see you stagnate this way.”
“Then sit. Heh heh. Get it? If you can’t stand, sit. Heh, heh.”
“I get it,” said Sylvia sitting down hard on my foot to show that she did.
“And, for your information, I’m not stagnating. I’m just catching up on my sleep.”
“Sleep is something you should do at night, not during the shank of the morning, whatever that is,” Sylvia argued.
“Look who’s talking. I notice you do a tremendous amount of sleeping during the day.”
“That’s not sleeping. I admit to enjoying a dog nap now and then during the day. I refuse to call them cat naps,” she continued crossly. “Cats get too much credit for doing nothing.”
“Speaking of cats,” I said, “Gordo must have a hot date tonight. Instead of sleeping, he’s been washing himself for two days. The white parts of him absolutely glow.”
“I wish you’d get him fixed,” Sylvia said. “As a feminist, I can’t stand the way he boasts about his conquests when he deigns to return from his outings.”
“I can’t get him fixed until I can catch him.”
“He’s not as dumb as he seems,” Sylvia observed. “He couldn’t be. I wonder what those lady cats he hangs around with see in him.”
“You have to admit he’s very pretty. Especially when he’s clean.”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” growled Sylvia.
“You’re as grouchy as I am,” I ventured to say.
No sooner had I completed the sentence than the lights glitched off – then on – then off. Like sheep following the bellwether, the furnace, TV and my heated throw all followed. Off. I followed with a few appropriate remarks.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Sylvia scolded.
“If you expect to eat again in the near future, you’ll button your lip.”
It was at least four minutes before her lip became unbuttoned. “Isn’t there supposed to be a January thaw?” she asked. “It’s been January forever and it seems like it’s been cold forever and ever.”
“It does seem that way,” I agreed. As I spoke the lights flashed on then off and then they came to rest at on. The furnace rumbled and came on again. My electric throw felt warm once more. I coaxed the TV to a waiting point for its signal before I said, “I don’t think there has to be a January thaw. It might come in February.”
“And then we’ll have mud. If there’s anything I hate worse than cold, it’s mud.” With that declaration Sylvia strode to her indoor bed beneath the TV set and turned around and around and around.
“Before you retire for the afternoon,” I asked her, “would a doggy biscuit cheer you up in any way?”
Sylvia’s eyes brightened. “It might. It just might. We could try. Are you going to bring it to me? I hesitate to disturb my bedtime routine.”
“I will,” I said rising and extricating myself from my heated throw. “I was just on my way to the kitchen to get an oatmeal cookie. That might cheer me up about having to shovel my way out of here before we get the promised January thaw.”

No January Thaw In Swingle Canyon For Sylvia