Last week we wrestled all the screens into place and opened all the windows downstairs to make up for the lack of air conditioning. The window in my study, over the cat bed, was a particular challenge. It took two men to get it open, and they really struggled to get the screen into position. Once they did, the window wouldn’t stay open, so I found a folding ruler, and with it extended to 24 inches, it was just about perfect.
Saturday afternoon, I walked into the study, and noticed that the window was down, the ruler was on the cat bed, and the screen was out. I asked Daughter if she had closed the window. She denied even being in the study. I pondered what might have happened, and finally decided that maybe the screen and ruler had been knocked out when one of the cats had a confrontation with one of the neighbor’s cats, who sometimes hang out on our big front porch and torment our indoor cats.
In church Sunday, a woman (K) came forward with a confession. She had broken into our house Friday night in search of electricity. Her husband was doing the framing for the new sidewalk they are laying in front of the house. They were in need of electricity for the work, and since there aren’t any outlets on the exterior of the house, they decided they needed to get into house.
Daughter was on her date, so we weren’t home. For once I had actually locked the front door—and they didn’t know that there is a key in the unlocked garage (they’re probably the only ones in Tiny Village who don’t know). Poor K, she picked the hardest window in the house to climb into, because of the cat bed that hangs on the window sill. She also picked the messiest room in the house to enter. The thought of her breaking into that particular room may have actually shamed me into going in there and cleaning today—provided it’s not too hot, that is.
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