Such is my life that not much that's novel or thrilling crosses my daily path, so I'm back with nothing special about which to write.
Proper grammar's a little awkward sometimes, isn't it?
About an hour ago I woke up with Max rooting around looking for the top edge of the blanket and sheet so he could creep underneath and get toasty on this cool and damp night. The moment I awoke, I knew a trip to The Small Room was imminently necessary. Out of bed, I passed the window that overlooks the roof of the screen porch and saw a black object on the roof. It looked like a hunkered-down crow; that was the size and, as far as I could tell, the shape. Too big to be a bat, no long tail-like appendages that a . . . rat . . . or opossum . . . would have. Thank the Lord. When I go back upstairs, I'll take the flashlight with me. That ought to guarantee that the thing will be gone.
It's probably a missing shingle or something. That wouldn't be surprising after last week's weather.
Until I know, I am feeling a little Poe's Raven-ish.
photo source: The Raven & Black Cat
I'll let you know what I see.