I stand before the door to the basement. The main floor is reasonably cool and dry, considering our aging air conditioner has been struggling all day.
The basement is colder, naturally, but there is when I open the door a pocket of warm, humid air that neither realm can claim. Strange.
Artemis and Psyche impatiently remind me of the business at hand.
The cats are hungry.
I turn around and slide the lock on the cat door. Into the basement, then a handful of cat food for Artemis tossed in his dish and not a second passes before he’s into his evening meal.
Upstairs I bend down and awkwardly pour the other handful into Psyche’s dinner bowl, strategically placed where it’s hard (for humans) to reach so she can eat in peace from the rambunctious young child.
She dunks her head in there to start scarfing down before I even finish pouring and ends up taking a dry food shower behind the ears.
The time it takes Psyche to finish could be measured in wavelengths of cesium, and then she’s lurking by the basement door.
She can’t get past the cat door but she knows that Artemis is down there and he hasn’t finished his food yet. There is only one place to wait.
The minute hand sweeps a leisurely radian and I hear the sound of Artemis at the cat door. The second hand traces the same path and then he’s defeated the sliding lock.
His evening meal finished, the lord hath come to keep watch over his domain. He suffers the humans to live in this place, but they bear watching.
Meanwhile, the cat door hasn’t finished swinging ‘fore Psyche has dashed downstairs to see if Artemis left anything unfinished.
23 hours and two pi minus one rad minutes later, then repeat.