It was the hottest afternoon of the summer, and Sara’s living room had turned into a sauna. The cat lay sprawled on the tile floor like a furry pancake, and the ice cream in her bowl had melted into a sad, sweet soup.
"Okay," she whispered to the cat. "Operation Cold Air."
A snowflake.
One more press.
"Not good."
Step one: find the remote. It was under a magazine. Step two: press the power button. The unit roared to life, but warm, dusty air sighed out. The cat sneezed.
"Yes," she breathed.
She pressed every button randomly. The fan speed went turbo. The swing flap danced like a happy bird. Still warm air. Sweat trickled down her neck.