My Dad was kind enough to give us bunches of strawberries, with which I made jam a couple weeks ago. (I bought some more berries today and made yet another batch. I don't want to buy store jam this winter. Ick.) The boxes were set on the floor by our back door for me to remember to return to Dad so he could re-use them. (Although my remembering skills have been slack lately. I had a bag by the door to take to Mom with a couple things in it. I grabbed it on our way to their house yesterday and only realized when I went to pass it to Mom that it was in fact a hand sander on its way to Matthew. Sheesh.) Even though Dad has stopped by several times since the initial jam batch (mostly to deliver firewood for the winter, yipee!) (I feel like the ants in the ant / grasshopper fable... getting jam and wood all stored up for winter) they have stayed by the door, and Virgil has taken an intense liking to the cardboard-y one. He'll spend 15 or 20 minutes with his head shoved in it, rolling around gleefully on the floor. Yesterday and today he's been kneading it and scratching it to bits (literally - there are little green bits all over him and the floor). He looks kind of suspicious in the lower picture - "Don't touch my box or else."
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