My two pooches are tucked into their hay-filled dog houses in their stall in the garage next to the oil radiator heater as this ice storm moves over the top of us. I'm lucky they'll do as much as wag their tails at me when they want to stay in to stay warm. But the rest of the time, they're flying around the yard like bats out of hell. Their behavior today is deceiving. No layabouts there!

Now the cats, that's where you get into supreme languor. Torpid. Stupor. Catatonic. There are some great words to describe that kind of sleep.

SRS