No Cats on My Hot Tin Roof

They're smart enough to stay off it when it's a bright, humid 90 degrees outside.  I'm not.

Our heat spell was broken up by a couple nights of torrential rain, enough to remind me that if I don't fix the leaks in my barn roof, I'll end up throwing away several bales of damp, moldy hay.  So hot or not, I climbed up there with my tube of neoprene sealant and looked for holes - which don't exist.  So I sealed seams that appeared perfectly tight, and covered nail heads that look flush with the roof, and got a fast 20-minute sunburn on my neck and arms.  Because Tennessee Williams knew what he was talking about - tin roofs are HOT.

The horses were inside, hiding from giant, evil horse flies (see blog about them here), but got concerned about the footsteps overhead, and came out.  I took a picture of Fritz and Remi from the edge of the roof.  The hand-size swelling on Remi's side behind his shoulder is from a fly bite.  He has several on his flanks, large lumps with a scab at the center.  Just like with mosquitos and people, there's always some poor guy who gets twice as many bites as everyone else.  That's Remi.