Jude skirts the cutout underlayment, above.
Similar view, sans Jude, new underlay, below:
Below, washroom, before and somewhat after ...
Below: The hump in front of the dishwasher has been cut out for new plywood.
Interesting that we have board floors instead of plywood.
The dogs are unhappy. The cat disappeared yesterday when the floor guys walked in. Our kitchen stuff is in the dining room, below:
When the cat came home last night, he walked around meowing: What have you done? Where is my stuff? Why is it echoing in here?
Pretty much I relate to that.
The plumber is plumbing. Probably gonna wind up replacing our old-generation low-flow toilets, the youngest of which is seventeen, because they don't work worth, well, a crap ...
The selling point on the new ones, which aren't that spendy, is that you can flush a dozen golf balls or kid's wiggly toys down 'em. The old 1.6's struggled with two sheets of TP, and more often than not, need a second flush, which not only didn't save water, it used more.
The original toilet is from the house's construction, 1969. Do the math, forty-four years. All of them I've replaced the works in all the tanks several times. (And if you didn't know? On ceramic toilets, the date it was made is usually stamped inside the lid or back of the tank, something I learned from a real estate agent who used it to catch people out. How old did you say the house was? Really? Odd that the original plumbing was made five years before the place was built? Business must have been really slow at the local hardware store, hey?)
There are writers who really don't like to write per se, they like to have written, if you take my meaning. Being able to point at the finished book is cool, but the process of doing it is, to them, less fun. Not me, I like the first draft the most, but I understand it; 'cause that's how I feel about remodeling. Once it is done, I'll enjoying pointing to it. Meanwhile? Not so much ...