Nothing up my sleeve

The information gathering part of the remodel is continuing. The other day I met with Mr Pyro, from the woodburning stove place. It was oh so delightful and informative and I learned I should be out there felling trees, splitting stumps and stacking logs right now if I want to heat my home with wood in eighteen months. Swell. And yet I sit here and blog about it rather than do it.

On the day in question, the sun was out and this meant that the front room of the Manor was a bit warmer than usual. The room has no curtains and faces south. In other words, the fishbowl was a-warmin' up. I'm sitting in my usual spot at the end of the table, in a sunspot, chatting with Pyro when I catch something out of the corner of my eye. I glance out the front door—which is open—and through the screen door—which is closed—to see Barque strolling up the walk. "Excuse me," I say to Pyro. "One of my cats is outdoors and I don't have outdoor cats."

I scoop up Furdini, trying to determine how she escaped. I think she has figured out the latch mechanism and whacked the door open while I was engrossed in a discussion about chimney height. I'll have to collect more data on this and possibly up my estimation of her IQ score a bit more.