Grass-cicles for the cats

The geese and the cranes heading South were right yet again.

The outside temperature at 7 AM this morning clocked in at -4 C (25 F). Inside the house, we had 20 C. Heaters are off.

Brownie points for having finished the outside insulation of the house this summer?

Most certainly.

Time for an open letter, or an open sentence to the 'Dear Fossil Fuel Producers'? Sure, up your's, your drill rig, that is.

The cats got their first grass-ciles this morning, a neologism made up of 'grass' and 'icicles'. How that?

We used to grow kitty grass from the pet store for the cats until we went, wait, what are we doing? This is consumerism at its best! We have many square meters of grass outside the garden door and still buy expensive grass seeds at the pet store, gosh.

From then on, potted grass gets grown in the deep winter months when the snow is too thick.

The rest of the year, you'd catch a slightly odd sight of someone out in the garden with a plate and a pair of scissors, cutting a handful of grass each morning, heading back into the house to be greeted by the herd of cats.

They love their grassy breakfast. If the humans deviate from the routine by, say making coffee first, their will take turns demanding the treat.

In the spring, after the winter diet of potted goodness, a couple of them tend to gorge on the outside grass for a week or so, eventually leaving slimy grass vomit on the kitchen floor, proving the value of paper towels. After the first week or so, they lose this overstuffing.