Clouds are gathering over the Circuit de la Sarthe, prematurely darkening the track even as the Sun sets. For those of us watching on television, the first indication of dusk is that the headlights grow more distinct.
There's been one safety car period so far, for the № 98 Aston Martin (G.T.E. Am.); the driver walked away, thanks be to God.
Both cats are hanging around me quite a bit, hardly surprising since I'm the only one home. Autumn, the little one, has spent a good deal of time dozing on my lap or between my legs. It's terribly cute, but she's already put one long scratch into my calf; caution is the watchword around her razor-sharp claws, which are terribly sharper than the claws of her larger brother, Scrapper.
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