You will survive being bested...
So Mithril went in for his re-check today. The good news is, he's regained a pound, and the only person he bit was me. (He scraped the skin, but didn't puncture, and when I made the patented Mom Warning Noise -- i.e. 'first bite's free, buddy, but do it again, and I'll slap you round the head!' -- he let go and straightened up his act.) The bad news is, since he's still a bit... erm... slow in the bum department, he's to be upped on the laxative, and that means more wet food, which I'm not fond of in the wake of last year's poisoned pet food incident. The kibble, generally, wasn't toxic; it was the gooshies that were targeted. I don't like that memory while I'm trying to care for the only family I've got, yaknow?
So anyway. The new carrier gets a mixed review. He likes it more than the soft side carrier, since there's room for him to turn around inside, and it feels more secure while he's being carried to and from the car, but he doesn't like that the openings on the side are not big enough to allow mum fingers through for pettins. He's a seriously touch-comfort cat when he's feeling insecure, which, when vets are involved, is pretty much all the time. Still, for car-comportment, he still beats all the others for lack-of-panic. He's really a good guy, PTSD aside.
Now I'm off to get the rest of today's errands done: I need to find another Big Lots store somewhere in the area, seeing as how we've bought every ten gallon rubbermaid tub the one had, and still have two shelves of books to pack. Then it's off to a Big Box Home Store, for some more plastic shelving for the basement, and more contractor's clean up bags, a stop by the art store to replace my rubber square which some little blue-eyed white cat who shall remain nameless, but who's a fucking KLEPTO, stole off my desk and hid... somewhere. I can't proceed on this painting until I get the misket up, and the rubber square's the safest way to do that.
And then, tonight, the big push of packing up will begin. All the stuff we left on the dining room table to dry will go either into tubs, or find other places around the house to stay. All the shelves, as well as the water damaged credenza will go up on Freecycle, the roll top and sofa will be wedged into the dining room, while the writing desk will get shoehorned into my office, all the tubbed books and lamps will get stacked into the guest room (bed's taken apart and up against the wall, to make room for it, so if you're thinking of visiting in the near future, be prepared to sleep on an air mattress.) And that just leaves the treadmill for us to sort out. I choose to believe we can find a place to cram it on the ground floor of the house... this is mainly because we are NOT going to wrestle that bastard up the stairs, damn it! It's just not going to happen. At all.
This is going to be an uncomfortably crowded couple of months, but with the prices for indoor storage I was getting yesterday, it's just not worth it to have the stuff schlepped offsite for two to three months, until the work's done. Playing tetris with our belongings is a pain in the arse, but I'm feeling paranoid about people whom I don't know being put in charge of things I care about. I'd rather deal with a crowded living space for awhile than three months of wondering whether I'm going to see half my favorite books and music back again. I know; not a nice thing to think about people, but one of the gifts of Humanity, is to be able to learn from the example of others' experience, and I've known friends who were robbed in exactly that way. By the time the loss was noted, it was too late to prove who was responsible for the theft, so they never got any of it back again. I've got enough to worry about right now. That's an added stressor I just don't need to carry.
So anyway. The new carrier gets a mixed review. He likes it more than the soft side carrier, since there's room for him to turn around inside, and it feels more secure while he's being carried to and from the car, but he doesn't like that the openings on the side are not big enough to allow mum fingers through for pettins. He's a seriously touch-comfort cat when he's feeling insecure, which, when vets are involved, is pretty much all the time. Still, for car-comportment, he still beats all the others for lack-of-panic. He's really a good guy, PTSD aside.
Now I'm off to get the rest of today's errands done: I need to find another Big Lots store somewhere in the area, seeing as how we've bought every ten gallon rubbermaid tub the one had, and still have two shelves of books to pack. Then it's off to a Big Box Home Store, for some more plastic shelving for the basement, and more contractor's clean up bags, a stop by the art store to replace my rubber square which some little blue-eyed white cat who shall remain nameless, but who's a fucking KLEPTO, stole off my desk and hid... somewhere. I can't proceed on this painting until I get the misket up, and the rubber square's the safest way to do that.
And then, tonight, the big push of packing up will begin. All the stuff we left on the dining room table to dry will go either into tubs, or find other places around the house to stay. All the shelves, as well as the water damaged credenza will go up on Freecycle, the roll top and sofa will be wedged into the dining room, while the writing desk will get shoehorned into my office, all the tubbed books and lamps will get stacked into the guest room (bed's taken apart and up against the wall, to make room for it, so if you're thinking of visiting in the near future, be prepared to sleep on an air mattress.) And that just leaves the treadmill for us to sort out. I choose to believe we can find a place to cram it on the ground floor of the house... this is mainly because we are NOT going to wrestle that bastard up the stairs, damn it! It's just not going to happen. At all.
This is going to be an uncomfortably crowded couple of months, but with the prices for indoor storage I was getting yesterday, it's just not worth it to have the stuff schlepped offsite for two to three months, until the work's done. Playing tetris with our belongings is a pain in the arse, but I'm feeling paranoid about people whom I don't know being put in charge of things I care about. I'd rather deal with a crowded living space for awhile than three months of wondering whether I'm going to see half my favorite books and music back again. I know; not a nice thing to think about people, but one of the gifts of Humanity, is to be able to learn from the example of others' experience, and I've known friends who were robbed in exactly that way. By the time the loss was noted, it was too late to prove who was responsible for the theft, so they never got any of it back again. I've got enough to worry about right now. That's an added stressor I just don't need to carry.