Pete

This house -- or maybe its occupants -- attracts stray cats. We've had four 0r five in the last couple of years, including our beloved, dearly departed Maud. Maud appeared in our garage about the time we moved in. Almost immediately adopted and deeply loved, poor little Maud died of a congenital heart defect before her first birthday. Then this past October came Petula Margot, AKA Pete.

Pete was another tiny stray kitten, hit by a car on nearby Market St. She was badly injured but saved from certain death by a kind-hearted cat lover who was unable to keep her. We were suckered in immediately. Little Pete had lost the use of one front leg in the accident and ultimately it had to be amputated. This doesn't stop her from getting around and into everything. She roars up and down the 42 stair-steps -- basement to third floor -- with great speed, if lacking a certain grace. She had an absolutely terrific time over the weekend shredding a roll of wallpaper, something you might not expect a three-legged cat to do, but she did it very well.

This allowed to me put off wallpapering the front hall, yet again.

Excuses, excuses.