The tortoise woke up. I checked on his box in the wine cellar, where he spent the winter under a bunch of leaves, and heard a rustling noise (“yee haw, let’s get these dogies outa here afore the posse shows up!”) and carried him, box and all, into the library, where it is dark and by the next day he was up and running around again, mesmerising the cats. He’s moved to the kitchen and I can’t wait for the weather to warm up to above 10 degrees C. because being outside will help him with his obsessions and monomanias. Right now these include finding a way to get behind the refrigerator, and carrying the metal fruit shelf thing on his back. And painting, of course. I’m already tired of cleaning up after him.
Also, he will be happy to be reunited with his stone, I imagine.