cathouse

If I thought for a heartbeat that anyone was still reading my blog, I'd apologize for not posting.

I haven't done laundry, worked out, or cooked in what feels like a year, but is probably closer to a month. Every day off I've had since I started my new job has been dedicated to picking, buying, closing, packing, moving, unpacking the new house.

But I am settling. And my OCD is finally sated--I know where everything is, I'm finding places for it all. And I've got a to-do list a mile long, but somehow I feel relatively on top of it all for once.

I am, however, officially losing my mind. Those of you who know my old house know the elaborate system of moats, ladders, and armed guards that I set up to ensure that my kitties' precious paws never touch the outside world. It is only going to be worse here. But the newest mark of my utter insanity has to be what I did yesterday. Provoked by the massive pet food recall, I strolled down the street to the little natural pet food boutique and dropped five bucks on four cans of high-end, organic, all-natural fancy-schmancy canned cat food. Pleased with myself, I brought home the bounty and, in the chattery baby-talk that I've picked up since the new job started, explained to the kitties how healthy and happy they would now be.

It is not going over well.

Here's what's funny to me: in the last 60 days, I have quit my job of three years (and my career of five), started a new job and a new field and a new lifestyle, bought a house and moved and settled in. And I'm talking about cat food.

Sigh.