My part of Northern California is currently experiencing its first really serious heat wave of 2011. I know better than to whine about this too much; by this point in the year, in a normal year, we'd be on heat wave three or four, and temperatures would be trending substantially higher than they are.

That being said, Thomas is only eleven months old, and this is actually the first really serious heat wave of his life. My house has air conditioning, but it doesn't run twenty-four hours a day, which means that it can get warm inside during the gaps. (Never dangerously warm. I am a good cat owner who does not bake her babies. But there's a big difference between "springtime cool" and "what is this shit?", especially when you've been genetically designed to go tromping around in heavy snow, mocking Jack Frost for his inability to nip at your nose.) Alice and Lilly are quietly miserable, but Thomas? Thomas is distressed.

Monday night, I got home from a hot, sweaty day at work, and promptly jumped into the shower, because sometimes, that's the only solution available to you. The Maine Coons thought so, too. In short order, I was joined in the shower by both Alice and Thomas, who splashed around in the water, got thoroughly drenched, and then took turns sitting on the plug so as to create a puddle for the other to swim in. Yes. My cats cooperatively filled the bathtub in order to have swampy funtimes.

After our shower, they squelched around the house like extras from Sigrid and the Sea Monsters until I chased them down and toweled them off. I think they're still annoyed about that. Sadly, their inability to understand "don't walk on keyboards while wet" is why they can't have a wading pool.

Heat wave with cats. It's going to be a long July.

Thomas can open doors.

Thomas has been able to open doors for a while now.

Thomas has never previously opened the front door. So this was new.

I got up to get ready for bed and discovered the front door of the house standing open, and an utter absence of cats. This, naturally, triggered INSTANT HYSTERIA, and lots of frenzied cat-calling, which probably frightened the neighbors.

Lilly came immediately, looking faintly ashamed of herself, and limping slightly. Thomas was in the yard, sniffing things, and came when called. I closed the door and turned to inspect Lilly's paw...during which pause Thomas OPENED THE DOOR again and let himself back outside.

I retrieved Thomas, called my mother, put on trousers, went outside, locked the door, and began searching the neighborhood for Alice. I found her halfway down the block, investigating someone's garden. I got her to come by clanging a can of wet food with a fork. She's mad now because she didn't get treats. I'm mad because, well. ESCAPING ISN'T COOL. Poor Vixy got me calling her in hysterics, wailing about how they got out.

All three cats are fine and uninjured. I cannot sleep. I have notified work that I'm going to be in late tomorrow, because there's no way I'm sleeping in the next hour. And from now on, the front door is locked even when I'm in the house.

Stupid cats.