Fresh air is as good for the mind as for the body. Nature always seems trying to talk to us as if she had some great secret to tell. And so, she has.
—John Lubbock
Yeti
When Misty returned to the room, she cracked the windows an inch or two to let the cool evening air inside. Yeti lay on the sill and lowered her nose to sniff the breeze. She could smell the scents of dirt, water, rocks, and trees. It was fresh and wonderful, appealing to her more primal nature. It was much more pleasant than the smells that came through the window at their old place. There, she’d smelled automobile exhaust. Lawn chemicals. Insecticides. The air was much cleaner here.
A light breeze ruffled her fur and carried another scent to her nose, one of a man. She glanced over at the deck. A man sat there on a mat, all alone, the moonlight reflecting off his forehead. He seemed to be taking a nap in a sitting position. She’d seen him and the others do the same thing many times this week. Humans were strange creatures, gathering together as they did and mimicking one another’s movements. You’d never catch a cat being such a, well, copycat. Cats had minds of their own, were independent thinkers. And, right now, Yeti thought she’d climb down and go curl up on her pillow.