Herself has been on a tear of late. Do not be deceived by her diminutive stature — like the tiny Chihuahua, she is full of energy, determination and occasionally bad noise and/or the occasional nip.

With an eye toward continuing her ruthless stranglehold on debt, she got our home loan refinanced from a 30-year fixed to a 15-year fixed, with a local lender, at an interest rate that is so staggeringly low that I am embarrassed to mention it here. We plan to use the money we save on interest to buy Santa Fe.

Then she tapped into several preposterously socialistic federal and state wealth-redistribution schemes and ordered up a new roof plus a massive injection of fresh insulation to keep the cats warm and dry during the brutal Colorado winter (high of 64 expected today). The solar collector came down yesterday, and today a platoon of Spanish-speakers occupies the high ground; shingles are flying everywhere like T-shaped Frisbees.

These dudes have little in common with free-lance rumormongers as regards work ethic. They were on the roof before I’d had my first cup of coffee, the crew boss advising, “It’s gonna get noisy.” Claro que si. Happily, I’m between deadlines. It sounds like Ringo’s drum solo from “The End” ad infinitum up there.

The cats are not amused. Even Miss Mia Sopaipilla, who like Herself is compact yet fearless, views this alarum with alarm.