We have been working on the back shed, a sturdily built structure of 15 feet by 15 feet with a high roof.
We have looked at it as a wonderful ‘little’ house to tinker with and develop wannahave skills, like nailing up boards and screening off access points for the rats which so happily have called this their home for the last five or so years.
I also can use my chain saw to cut off the Oak tree branches that have landed on its roof . . I say branches but they are 14 inches across and 40 feet long, so I may have to prioritize them after I graduate from the full-body workout regimen that I am planning to take up . . someday soon.
I mention this only because we had a big scare when the painter tried to paint the interior. He came running back to the main house, wild-eyed clutching only the nozzle of the paint sprayer, and babbling something about escaping a fate worse than death.
It seems that the house was infested with silverfish, those cute little silver things with pinchers at the back. Two or three, cute. Forty-eight million, scary. They were coming out of every crack and board and the majority were headed right for him, the offending intruder. He ran out and we haven’t seen him since. I have a suspicion that the silverfish found his car, and we will find it one day in the bush, sans painter, but full of smiling silverfish.