Listening to Jessica Simpson sing is like listening to someone make balloon animals. You have to endure a bunch of random squeaking noises and cringe while waiting for the POP.
How are we coping w/the house?
When we were at the dingy apartment, all Max wanted to do was run free. So here we are, with a big fenced backyard, and he’s terrified of it. When we let him out, he stays firmly upon the concrete patio, and will only go onto the grass if one of us is out there beckoning him to come. Not good. When he’s in, he’s very clingy and is never far from me.
Charlie, the big orange cat, hasn’t eaten since Friday night. He was AWOL for a day and a half once we moved in. I was positive that he had crawled into a duct (how? who knows?) or fallen into a hole in the basement (where? who knows?). Worried myself sick. Then I realized he was smushed in my closet between my longest skirt, the wall, and behind a boot. This cat is over 20 pounds. That’s a lot of smushing. Soon after I discovered his hidey-hole, he disappeared again, only to reappear at nights in bed when I sleep. No clue where he is right now. He’ll eat when he’s hungry enough, I guess.
My tiniest pet is Misty. Misty is fearless. She’s been all over this house, basement to 2nd floor. Her favorite spot is the top basement step. I think she enjoys watching us almost tumble to our deaths as we try to avoid her. Above is Misty, acting as if she were the one who signed the deed.