The Cold Kitty

It took precisely 5.2 minutes for the guy who opened the door to realize he didn't shut it and get up from where he was sitting, right next to the door, to get up and close it, which he confusedly meddled with for an additional 30 seconds. It's a door, it has a handle and swings on hinges. . . this should not be a difficult task. I am sitting in a coffee shop in Moscow since the power went out at 1:00 a.m. this morning is still not back on 12 hours later at The Rubber Room (aka, our house). I received my first clue as I was sitting at my desk around 12:30 a.m. and The Absentminded Professor (aka, my husband) comes bolting into my office, naked as a jaybird, yelling, "What was that, what was that? Someone's moaning outside the window," while he proceeds to mimic said moaning as though I had no clue what moaning sounds like. My response, "Uh, yeah, it's the wind. Go back to bed," which he did without further argument or naked bolting incidents. Thirty minutes later, swoosh, all power goes out. I finally get through to the power company at 6:30 a.m. and am informed that it is going to be awhile. Does awhile mean a few hours, all day, what? He doesn't know, just awhile. My Gentle Assassin (aka, the cat) watched me reproachfully as I headed off to somewhere warm while he had to stay behind in the 40-degree Rubber Room. So I am curled up at Sisters Brew, working, with greasy hair and wrinkled clothes, and my Gentle Assassin is curled up underneath my favorite blanket at home, waiting for the giants to return and turn on the pellet stove.