Of course, whilst I’m whining about the inconveniences of caulk, or marveling at a little bit of siding, Marn’s doing her usual Big Adventure job, writing up the wonders of a cement pour at her Little Cabin in the Woods:
The spousal unit, who never swears, let out a string of profanity that would have made all the fur on our three cats fall out, if they spoke fluent profanity. Fortunately, the only three words the cats actually know are “in”, “out” and “food” so we did not end up with three bald cats, just three cats trying to figure out why four humans were running at speeds seldom seen in people of such advanced years.
If you aren’t reading Marn, you should be.
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