Day Two

of the Woodstock era. We found her yesterday curled up in the bathroom sink, so we put her fleece blanket in it, and for now, that’s her bed. We have the door to the bathroom open, so she could visit the rest of the house if she wanted. But she has lived her entire life in small, confined spaces, so even our old small farmhouse must seem like a vast universe. Also today, she unspooled a whole roll of toilet paper, and also tore down a towel rack. Woodstock might be the wrong name. She could be tabbed Taz, as in the Tasmania Devil. She will settle in, in, oh, five or six years.