Snowing in Stratford, and finally cold enough for it to hang around a while.

Around here, people leave their holiday lights up most of the winter; it’s just too miserable a job to take them down when the wind chill is doing minus lots and lots. I have two measly strands wound around my stupid little mulberry tree, so I’ll just take in the extension cord and tuck the proximal end of the lowest strand out of harm’s way until we have another snow-clearing thaw.

The cats murdered another mouse in the small hours of the night and left the corpus delicti in the middle of the bedroom rug, a Kirman that provides excellent camouflage. Having narrowly avoided stepping on it, I consigned it to the organic waste bin with a decision that, on the whole, the cats are earning their keep.