Temporary Shelter

So, it has been about a month since the last post on this blog. We haven't disappeared entirely, although it might seem like it. Life just isn't filled with a lot of happiness at the moment. Of course we are aware of others who are suffering far worse than ourselves, so that our approach to our own unhappiness seems even petty. But there it is. It's all we've got.

Not a lot to say. Just felt I should let those who might be interested know we are still alive and as well as we can be at the moment. Still waiting for that rainbow to shine a pot of gold upon us. Maybe tonight, right?

It hasn't all been unpleasant. In fact, I believe I can honestly state that of the four of us (myself, Spouse, Son, Firestar) there is one who is still happy about the move. Spouse and Son were excited - until we actually arrived. They've changed their tunes (as I knew they would).

But Firestar is happier, or seems to be most of the time. I think I know why. Stairs. He doesn't have to navigate any now.

The house was five levels, and we spent most of our time on levels one and three (with one being the highest floor). Firestar's personal bathroom (litter box) was on level four and his food was on level three. He liked to sleep on our bed, which was level one, and he liked to watch the rabbits from ground floor, which was level four. So, here is a typical day in the life of a cat in a five floor house.

Wake up on level one and go down thirteen steps to level two. Go down four steps to level three. Go down thirteen steps to level four. Use the litter box. Come back up thirteen steps to level three and get something to eat and drink. Go bother Bevie at the computer. Go back up four steps to level three. Go back up thirteen steps to level one and take Bevie's place on the bed. Repeat this scenario several times during the day.

Here at the apartment/flat there are three rooms. The living room is nearly filled with boxes, two office chairs, some banquet tables, a glider rocker, a treadmill (which won't work at the apartment), and a desk. There is a two foot wide path allowing passage from the kitchen to the sliding doors.

Son's room has no space for walking. His mattress takes up the room's center, his dresser one corner, his book shelves an entire wall, and his saxophone and tuba another corner.

The master bedroom actually has the most open floor space, but no wall space. Boxes have been stack too high.

So, Firestar never has to go very far at all before he has reached the end of how far he can go and has to turn around. We have the same problem, but it doesn't seem to bother him as much it does us. Even so, I think he misses the rabbits. And he has been going stir crazy more often this past week. Perhaps the novelty of living in a different place is wearing off for him, too.

For your (possible) enjoyment/amusement, here are some pictures Son and I took at our current place of residence.

Son doing his daily exercise under Firestar's intense tutelage.
Actually, this becomes my sanctuary to escape snores in the middle of the night.

Firestar after one of his campouts.
Actually, Firestar has a penchant for crawling into sleeping bags, under blankets and towels, and going to sleep.

Another good idea shelved.
This is one of two desktop shelf units I used at the house. After this picture was taken the shelf units were both moved and now I haven't a clue where they are - beyond some place in the apartment.

Local friends having a quiet chat.
When we first arrived there was a flock of swallows who were convinced our deck belonged to them. Haven't seen them now in more than a week.

Reflections of a cat's life.
This was taken from the deck. Firestar is in Son's room looking out. The glass is reflecting the pool area and parking lot below.

It isn't home and it isn't sweet, but this is where we live now.
It's a corner apartment, so the first two windows from the deck are Son's room and the master bedroom. The air condioning box on the wall has to cool off the entire apartment. That's all right this year because it's been so cool. My plastic white rocker, which is older than Son, is finally cracking apart. But I kept it anyway. It's one of the more comfortable chairs we have. We can't keep windows open long because absolutely everyone around us smokes and the smell congregates in that corner. Son actually gets sick and has to go back inside. I grew up around cigarette smoke, so it's only a nuisance for me.

What a bath tub!
Actually, it's our pool area, shared with about one hundred other units. The sign claims forty people can be in there. Maybe. If they're all leprechans. For normal sized people, though, I would say ten to twenty is max. And on the best days that is about how many are in there. Son and I had it to ourselves one day - when it wasn't too cold.

A symbolic end to a day and an era.
This was taken by Son from our deck, which faces west. It wasn't the prettiest sunset we've had, but it was nice. We're out of the house now, and unless it starts to rain money down upon us we will probably never again see the inside of one we call home. I must say, none of this makes any sense to me. But then I've always been thick.

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