Memorial Day already?

Can someone please tell me how it got to be Memorial Day Weekend already?
Somehow in the hubbub of work and worry about the economy, the “beginning” of summer has slipped up on me and slapped me in the face.
I shouldn’t be that surprised, I suppose.
Having finally gotten my lawnmower in working order — why does a tire go flat and a belt self-destruct just at the time you have to start mowing? — my yard is now somewhat under control.
Although after the rainy days of spring and the mower ailments, it was a bit harder to tackle than other years.
And my yard certainly wouldn’t be welcomed by my neighbors if I lived in town. I happen to like the way dandelions look, I would never put chemicals on my lawn, critters and birds are always welcome and whatever sort of green stuff decides to pop up is OK with me.
Being surrounded by fields means that no one else really has to look at my yard, and that’s just fine by my estimation.
Another hint also should have warned me that the cold months were past.
Two cats decided to call our outdoor area their home about a month ago and, you guessed it, one of them was a female and she just happened to be extremely pregnant.
Since they aren’t tame, you can’t get near them, but they will deign to use food and water bowls I put out for them.
Then, three weeks ago, Wotzit Cat, as we call the mom, had her kittens. First I found them under a bit of wood in our fence row and then they were gone.
I thought — make that, I hoped — that she had taken them back to wherever she had lived before.
Nope. Instead, for some reason, she moved them into our firepit in our yard ... the one that perhaps we would have fired up on Memorial Day to roast veggie dogs and make s’mores.
Now, in an effort to keep the kittens dryer than they would be under the branches that are in the firepit, a few pieces of plywood adorn the top, held up by cement blocks.
Again, I’ll never win the Neighborhood Beautification Award. Again, it’s good I have no neighbors that close.
At least Wotzit, Gary (her apparent beau) and the kittens aren’t complaining.
But kitten season should have smacked me into the realization that summer is hot on my heels.
Summer — my least-favorite season. It’s hot. It’s humid. You have to mow the lawn. People expect you to wear shorts. People wonder why you don’t have a tan.
Oh well, hot weather or not, I suppose I’ll muddle through with all the others who dislike the dog days.
And that might even include the new kittens.