Freedom: it haz a smell. Dinsdale, the great and hairy one, made a run for it and I let him stay out for a couple of hours. I've never seen him so happy, and so covered with shit by the time I got him in.

I used to let all my cats outside, until I got Bif. Bif. I will talk about him at some later post. But when I finally moved somewhere that he could go out, he would get in bloody and shitty fights, contract malaises, get into people's apartments, just bascially became a ne'er-do-well costing me a lot of money and anxiety. I haven't really addressed the issue since he died: I don't think Dinsdale would be quite the punk Bif was, but you never know. The pet ecosystem is a delicate balance that sometimes suffers greatly with just minimal tinkering.
It was a lovely weekend. It was cloudy and warm - not hot - and there was much housework and yard work to be done.

The back garden is now surrounded by cheap cheesey picket fencing with a 'gate' that is just a section that I cut. I bemoan the lack of manliness in my life, if only to have someone around to build me crap.

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