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Toms
The Tom I call BigHead is limping in a daze with two fang marks in his neck. I haven't seen the kitten in over a week, and there is rumored to be a yellow Tom in the mix now. And there is the consistently ocassional smell of death which emanates from a nearby clump of weeds.
And unbelievably, the Rocheblave property is for the first time in ten years, or more, hooked up to city water, and a toilet flushes, and a sink and a shower do what they do but only with cold water. Much work still to be done, but at least a break in what was seeming like a bad joke being played out by a fairly competent plumber on a sometimes fairly much overwhelmed rapidly aging boy in the hood.
Dumaine swarms in Shelton's absence with a new group of boys joining Fermin, Glynn, Jacque, and other core members and if you give them a piece of colored chalk they will declare themselves the Dorgenois Boys. They seem pretty polite and respectful, some having game, others having sense of humor.