The Right to Write

It is incredibly warm and raining. It is coming down in great deluges and there was an episode of wind that had rain hitting the front windows far back on the porch, threw cushions out of the chairs. I opened the door and Punk, our old grey tabby, came to the door, but no amount of coaxing could get him to come inside. He’s determinedly an outdoor cat.

I have not gone into the attic to check the still-leaky roof. I refuse. So far it is not coming through the ceiling into the living room, where...