The Slice: The Slice: Summer brings memories

A season can make you miss someone.

I was telling a friend a story about my big brother. It was about a moment when he was convulsed with laughter.

And it hit me. When I think about him, which I do quite often since he died a few years ago, I almost always picture him in summertime.

Johnny loved summer. His confidence and comfort with himself seemed to be solar-powered.

I wasn’t on the scene when he was a little kid. But from all accounts, his childhood zeal for the hottest part of the year was up there in Huck Finn territory. He could have been the prototype for the little boy in “Calvin and Hobbes.”

By the time he was a teenager, and I was around to observe, he had turned summer into an art form. From my vantage over by the stacks of comic books, his cologne and gasoline world of cars, girls and ‘60s music seemed like a series of blurry-fast movie scenes.

When my brother burst out the screen door in a short-sleeve madras shirt on his way to a date, he looked like he was going to leap into the air and fly.

He never really lost that emotional connection to the season. He regarded my own fondness for winter as a form of mental illness.

So it’s no mystery why I tend to picture him in shorts and sandals. And why, in my memories, he always seems on the verge of smiling.

Maybe you’re missing someone, too — someone who really came alive at this time of year.

If so, I can understand how a cloudless summer day might usher in a melancholy moment or two.

We all have to deal with that in our own way.

But I’ll tell you what I do. I remember the explosive energy and rolling cadence of my big brother’s laugh.

For me, that will forever be part of the soundtrack of summer.

“Feline follies: Chloe, my neighbor’s humorless cat, apparently has perfected teleportation technology.

I have no other explanation for her recent ability to get into my house undetected.

But the other night, she allowed herself to be seen coming in and this time it was fine with me.

The doorbell rang and a couple of guys selling something were there on the porch. When I opened the outside door, Chloe silently scooted in through the narrow space.

We all saw it.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the salesmen. “That is not my cat, I need to go track her down.”

The salesmen, who had hardly sputtered a word, realized they were licked. No sale.

After I closed the door, I loudly praised Chloe for her brilliant tactics and went about finding her a nice treat.

“Today’s Slice question: What local residence has had vehicles with the greatest variety of out-of-state license plates parked in front of it this summer?