Animal Magnetism

The first sure sign of cold weather is that I begin to sprout furry, purring, cat-sized tumors. They grow on my head when I'm sleeping, in my lap when I'm working, and I often even have a sweaty cat fur glove on my left hand when I'm reading. I wake in the middle of the night to discover fuzzy growths under either arm and on the tops of my feet, and while their locations may change, they never detach.

And it's not just cats that I attract. Of course, every insect in the free world has discovered the weakness of our defenses - worn sills, old caulking, paper-thin weatherstripping - locating a crack, crevice, nook or cranny to sneak in. Fruit flies, who ignored us all summer, now seem aware of their brief lives and have mounted an assault on three spotted bananas and a bowl of tomatoes with a vengeance. Spiders have set up housekeeping on every glue block in the place, leaving the floor around the furniture legs littered with carcasses and carnage. The skunk pillaging my compost bin has stepped up his efforts, and a mouse has set up camp in an eggshell half, probably consoled not only by the convenience of snacks but also by the warmth of rot. And then, there was the nest of baby snakes in the dryer vent.

Honestly, this might be a case of being careful what you wish for. I feel like my teenage wishes for popularity are being visited on me now, and I should have been careful to specify what kind of popularity. General popularity with the universe has its drawbacks vis a vis dryer vent snakes.