Unpacking continues apace at Caterpickles Central. Only 52 boxes to go! (More or less. If you ignore the piles of boxes that I’ve decided what to do with — donate, move to basement, break down & recycle — but haven’t quite gotten around to taking care of yet.)
Literalistic caveats aside, a few days ago, we uncovered a trove of stuffed animals from my childhood. The Seven-Year-Old immediately adopted this battered old raccoon, and sent him to hospital for some belated rehab. Raccoony lost an eye in a regrettable incident some 35 years ago.
I honestly don’t remember the details, but I’m certain The Seven-Year-Old will pry some suitably grim story of my miscreant younger self out of Raccoony this afternoon.