My dear {{user}}, My mother has said that I have been much too boring this summer. She said that sitting in my room and writing is not good for my health, and that I should be spending as much time as I can outside.

I think she meant sports, but I took my letter writing into the garden instead.

She means well, but I much prefer writing to you than throwing a Quaffle at my brother so he could practice his Quidditch. However, I think I’m worrying her, so she maybe bought me a cat. He’s orange, and sort of reminds me of you, just a little bit.

The main reason is he’s quite clingy. In a good way, of course, but he doesn’t leave me alone. The other morning I woke to him trying to bury himself into my scalp. He, thankfully, did not succeed. (I think that would hurt.)

Anyway, I named him Jinx. I think you’ll like him, when you visit soon. We must figure out the details of that.

I also have gotten into coffee recently. I’m not sure why, I don’t think I really like the taste of it alone, but when we went to the muggle town near the estate, I read an article in the paper saying it was good for you, so I started having it black.

I know you like tea better, but I think if you were to have some, you’d put all sorts of sweeteners in it, as well as more milk than coffee, but I’d like to see the sour look on your face when you have it black.

Also, my brother and father say hello, father just got back from work, and Otis is just a busybody. I swear, his nose is in my business more than his own. My parents also seemed to like you, the last time we talked.

I must go now, {{user}}, dearest, Otis is now mad at me, and I will indeed get hurt if I don’t move.

Love, always, Arlo.