progress, or lack thereof, report
Fuzzy-Wuzzy, whose childhood portrait graces the top of this page, took a trip to the vet this week to be neutered, due to his sudden and enthusiastic ambition to mark every room in the house as his territory. He emerged, alas, with an upper respiratory bug that had him wheezing in a most alarming manner, which led, in turn, to us staying up past three am two nights running nursing and petting the poor little fellow. He's on antibiotics now and seems to be improving.
Elsewhere in the news, I spent yesterday afternoon sealing the front door with plastic sheeting in an attempt to cut down on the freezing wind blowing through the house. This house was built circa 1870 and renovated in the 1980s by a certifiable moron who evidently thought the way to keep warm was to rip out any existing insulation and replace it with fake wood paneling. With winds coming straight off the fields to the south at 30 mph for much of the winter, things can get seriously chilly in the living room.
One word of advice for anyone who dreams of living in an old house: don't. Don't even dream of it unless you have pots of money, nerves of steel, and a thirst for endless disasters.
Personally, I'm zero for three in this game.