So today I’m up bright and early. I made the beds and then made the oatmeal, which some prefer to call porridge, though I don’t for the life of me know why. Porridge sounds so gruelish. Anyway, our breakfast, no matter what it is, never turns out right for our tastes, so we’ve always just put it in the bowls on the table and left it out to see if it’s better later. Actually my husband, Barry, and I never have had a good breakfast. It’s always too hot or too cold. But for some reason little Beatrice’s is nearly always just right. That’s important. So this morning around 8 am, a little creature, I’ll call her Blondie, came to our house, evidently just after we left for our early morning pre-breakfast jog around the forest to get our breakfast temperatures adjusted. When we got back to the house, the door was ajar and there was mud on the carpet. We always wipe our paws at the door. Don’t I just hate tracked in dirt! There were little creature prints on the floor everywh