I got home last night, and when I went down the hall, I smelled something which I couldn't identify right away.
I let the dogs out, and then I checked Nita, who had run a fever all day. She spent most of the afternoon on the sofa, sleeping with her cat.
When EG was helping me bring the dogs in, he opened Rocky's door and said, "What do I smell? What is that?" Rocky said, "I had the window open."
I went in and said, "Why is it smoky in here?"
"My window was open."
"But it isn't smoky outside." Rocky then started to get stressed. We moved his dresser to find the remnants of a small fire, which had fortunately burned itself out before catching the house on fire. He finally admitted to the fire when we found matches and burned newspaper in there, too.
So now he's back on blackout. It never ends with the bad choices, does it? Tomorrow I will talk to him about using words to express anger.