No worries; I do still exist in the world. All these life change-ups force us to rework our schedules, and I haven’t really found time for the writing thing in a while. Everything should be back to normal once we unpack our last box. We expect this wonderous event to occur sometime this November.
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The cats are taking to the new house quite well. Hermione was freaked out for the first fifteen minutes or so, then she meowed, flicked her tail, and began the arduous task of putting her scent on every single corner of the walls. She’s about 20% done, I’d estimate.
They’re also having to learn how to run on hardwood floors. This has been very amusing to Steven and me. When one of them wants to launch from zero to sixty at cat-warp speed, there’s a long second where they’re running in place like Wile E. Coyote.
Renton is mostly busy trying to figure out our new kitchen chairs, which were happily given to us by Steven’s parents. These chairs have casters on them, so they glide nicely across our tiled kitchen floor. Renton has found he doesn’t care for the moving chairs, so he’s working on a system of jumping from the floor over the armrest into the chair so it moves as little as possible. He’s getting pretty good at it, but there are a few times where he hits the chair funny and it goes rolling. This provides us with much entertainment.
One of the most baffling things about the cats’ reaction to the move has been Renton’s mood: he has been incredibly nicer than his usual since we brought them to the house. Even our friends don’t get swatted at by him near as much as they used to — except Willis; Renton still doesn’t care for Willis.
It’s the weirdest thing. The moment Steven and I come through the door Renton is rubbing his head on our ankles, just aching to be picked up and petted. At first I thought he needed comforting since his environment had changed, but this has been going on for three weeks now. He’s not even on any drugs!
Not that I’m complaining, mind. It’s just weird, weird, weird.