Confirmation

Snow day! Meaning that I had nothing but time on my hands, and that I could take Skittles to her complimentary vet checkup, which comes with every adoption from the Eleanor Sonsini Municipal Animal Shelter.

And the vet read her medical history much more clearly than I did, and told me that when she was given to the shelter, she had ear mites, fleas, and a pretty severe case of emaciation. Her back end didn't work that well, and she was lethargic; she got a B12 injection and just three weeks later, she was in our home.

She weighs 3.5 pounds, big for 3 months old (though not huge - after another week with us, I suspect she'd jump up another notch), and no signs of any back-end trouble or lameness. She had a microbial parasite, which she's getting meds for, and she got her shots against rabies and some other dang thing. All in all, a clean bill of health. We're all relieved, and enjoy it even more when we watch her scamper downstairs for some high-quality kitty kibble whenever she damn well pleases. Her skin gets looser and her fur gets thicker every ten minutes. The vet said she'll probably be a 12-to-14-pound cat. Let's just see what happens when I follow my sister's advice and start hitting her with the tuna. (Feeding it to her, I mean.) (The cat, I mean.)

I also took advantage of the snow day to finally put that shrinky film over the windows in the bedrooms and on the picture window in the living room. Not sure why it took me so long this year - perhaps since we mostly heat with the wood stove, it hadn't seemed as urgent. But now we're better-protected. I did put in a message with the National Office of the Passive House Institute, though, to see if they can tell me whether that might be workable - retrofitting this house so that it heats itself passively and doesn't need a furnace. Probably a pipe dream, though - such things are not free.

In other news, we went sledding the other day (there is some pretty cool footage to cook up into a movie for you), and Q, after marching all the way back up the hill, accidentally let his sled fall out of his hands and watched it slide, empty, back to the bottom of the hill. Which is pretty big.

He then said, clear as day:

"Fuck."

I blinked from where I stood at the bottom with T. "What did you say?"

"Fuck," he repeated.

"What?!"

He looked at me in ever-increasing puzzlement. "How could he not get this?", he seemed to be thinking. "The 'F' word," he clarified.

I gave him a short lecture and let him go unpunished, secretly pleased, just like with the "Rat shit" story. Some attitude is a good thing, I must always remind myself.