We’re back! Hawaii was fabulous and amazing, we had the best time ever, yada yada yada…but onto house stuff.
We had a special visitor the other evening. Greg called me at work to tell me that there was a kitten stranded on the patio, at which point I excitedly began planning how we would handle this. Should we take it in? We have a big house now, and no cranky landlord, so there would be no excuse not to, right? Franny needs some company, and in the long run she would learn to live with the kitten. I rushed home to scoop up the kitty and shower it with love and affection, but when I got here, it became abundantly clear that there would be no cuddling with this little beast. It wouldn’t let us get anywhere near it, and Greg said it had been scrambling around him like a tornado, hissing and spraying in his general direction. And let me tell you, this kitten had devil eyes. I didn’t think it was possible to find a kitten that’s not adorable, but I suppose Philly has plenty of not so adorable things. Presumably this kitten belonged to the family of cats living in the abandoned building behind our house, who hang out there because one of our wonderful neighbors has decided that it’s a good idea to feed the stray cats in the neighborhood. After Animal Control all but laughed at us (I guess they don’t consider feral kittens to be a big emergency) we had to take matters into our own hands. We debated between putting a trash can against the wall, enabling it to escape, or capturing it and bringing it to the SPCA. In the end, we decided letting it go would only contribute to the stray cat problem, and Franny is the only feral cat we want hanging around these parts. Greg somehow managed to trap it and we drove up to north Philly to drop it off at the shelter. You’d think the box contained a rabid tiger, we were so nervous about carrying it. As you can see from the photo, it was taped up six ways from Sunday and we were still convinced the little bastard was going to wrangle his way out. Hopefully they found a home for him, but I have my doubts about a successful rehabilitation for this beast.
Coming back to the house, although it’s in a state of utter chaos, has been great. It is such a feeling of freedom to not have the wedding breathing down our necks, that now the house being a disaster doesn’t bother us quite so much. The first order of business has just been rearranging some boxes so we can at least sit on the couch without feeling like we’re in the middle of a minefield. Making dozens of trips up to the third floor is making us wish we had opted for a smaller place, or perhaps an elevator. But for the most part, I still look around and think, “Wow, this is it, this is where we live, it all worked out and it’s exactly what we wanted.”