I'm WFH and, for full transparency, hate hot weather with every fibre of my pasty, freckled, gingery being. DP isn't much better, so the front of the south facing house (not such a great decision on my part in summer, brilliant in winter) is in darkness and has been for the entire week.
Last time I saw DTwatCat #1, he was hiding somewhere in the depths of the weedpatch out back and had been since about 8am - he's come in twice, once to collapse dramatically outside the bathroom door whilst I dared to dream of having an unsupervised morning wee and once to throw himself upon the kitchen floor because I'd accidentally watered his hiding place with him in it.
DTwatCat #2 took umbrage at my flannelling her ears and sacred paws down whilst she sat beside me at the laptop and took herself off to the cardboard box (OK, I'll admit it, ONE of the many) behind the armchair where she is currently doing a worryingly good impression of a dead cat. She's longhaired, so I'm trying to avoid her suffering too much.
DP has called me a soppy mug, because I'm sitting here with a frozen fanjo, thanks to the cold pack I'm using to try and stay marginally cooler whilst working, and the fan is on the floor, pointing into said carboard box where Madam Fluffyarse is reclining in the dark on a lambswool blanket.
I'm prepared to take the insult - but, when I went upstairs, what do you all think I found? That's right, DP sweltering away at his computer whilst DTwatCat #1 is spreadeagled across the landing in front of upstairs column fan where DP has moved it from the bedroom to point at the stripey git.
Hypocrite!