Char and I are entering into the second most significant collective choice we’ll ever make; it comes a reasonably distant second to having a child, but it’s still a link between us that we are never likely to sever. It commits us to the financial side of the relationship in a way that — in the all-too-human myopia that comes with large changes — seems to overshadow the real basis for the relationship for a time.

A short time, mind you.

I’m really looking forward to this. It’s been stressful, it’s been draining, but we get our keys today (I just talked to the lawyer, the money’s on it’s way to Bob now) and tonight, we move the first of the bits of our lives into the house.

All I can say is, “poor cats!” They’re terrified.

She was neurotic and temperamental; she would be loving everything one minute, and the next she would be an omnidirectional hate engine.

She hated to be held, and hated standing on any part of a human, for the first five years I knew her.

She made noises like you were killing her to indicate her pleasure when you petted her. She also made those same noises to “warn” you that you were about to pull back a stump.

She liked to play, when she was out of hiding.

She loved Char… but she adored me. I was the first person on whose lap she would not only sit, but occupy with force. I could not be somewhere in the house without her making at least some visit to me.

She … could not live with a dominant male cat. Her stress manifested itself both in her unhappiness and in behaviours that were unpleasant for us.

I am so sorry, Chitty, that we could not give you a happy home. I earnestly believe that we have done the very best thing for you that could be done; given you the most solid shot at a happy home. Someone will adopt you, I am sure.

I’ll miss you.

Still, the link above was full of good advice, advice that I intend to heed when the time comes (which is not now, in case anyone was panicking! All of our cats are as healthy as ever, if completely insane).

In between a month and six weeks, Char and i are moving. We’re going to be packing up the life we have in this house and hauling it all (including a hissing and spitting Chitty) a short distance away to a newly-renovated home just off of 61st Avenue.

So… How many years has it been?

I’ve got a lot of memories of this house - it has borne witness to most, though not all, of the major transitions in my adult life. It was here that i lived when Amanda and I ceased being Amanda and i, it was here that i lived when i met… and when i, uh, fled that horrorous (yes, i know, not a word…) creature to whom i owe soooo much. I joined a band (in a manner of speaking), hosted parties, and all around had a good time. There are lots of memories that i have that are irrevocably tied to these walls.

Most important of those memories are the ones that are ongoing, though. First, the reason for this blog in the first place: I’m back in school. If it weren’t for that, i don’t really want to know where i’d be right now. Probably Texas, from what i can tell. It was a close shave, and one i would really rather not contemplate too closely

The second memory, of course, is Char. Anyone who knows me, of course, knows what i mean when i say that she’s turned my life into a better place to be. Detailing this would be irrelevant. It’s such a change that it’s completely self-evident. Sometimes, apparently, good things happen to good people. Even more rarely, good things happen to me

So, there it is. Moving day is coming. It’s gonna be pretty nice. Our new landlord is not the dead weight that the current one is. It’s going to be different, living in a house with an actual caretaker, someone that actually gives a damn about the quality of life of his tenants. Woo!

Wish us good fortune… all two of you