I believe I shared that Tom and I have moved our bed into half of my old office. And therein lies the reason for the only festive thing we’ve accomplished this season. Hanging remnants from last year’s wrapping paper on the French doors so Pollock can’t come stare at us while we sleep. He sends the Bat Pack into a barking frenzy, even though they all like Pollock. I guess they, like us, don’t feel like being a zoo or museum exhibit.
