He found the place where desire meets capabilities. Saw my hat on a chair (adjacent to the couch). Was holding onto the couch with one arm, standing, facing my hat. He wanted that hat. That filthy black tooque I got three winters ago. One foot forward then another then another then victory. You could tell he was getting off on walking (squealing and banging his fists when he reached the other side). It’s life. It’s lovely. It means I’ll have to be that much quicker to catch his mistakes unlike this morning when he promptly banged on a wooden 2X4 we keep above our radiator to keep shit on, which catapulted a glass vase across the living room floor. It was like Braveheart except with me in the movie, in one of those enormous football field battles, cleaning up with a broom and dustpan.