Poor Pishka (means literally a barrel; colloquial Russian for "fatty") was spayed. She came back with a very odd bandage -- six bows, a pattern of blue hippos -- like an old pair of panties twisted into a cat bikini. Next, said the vet, will be likely be the removal of her one bad eye.
Meanwhile we continue to have fun with feltwear and struggle with cabin fever.
We're getting better on the ice, slowly.
EB played alone at recess yesterday, choosing from the toy shed an old plastic truck with a missing wheel, and dragging it around the snowy yard on its too-short string. A and I had coffee with the mother of another new student the same morning, at a cafe near the school. Fragile, shy, with an elaborate camera... not only is she planning to homeschool after preschool, but she speaks Polish.
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