Cats under the bed

They seem well adjusted to the new house, our cats. They are sitting on windowsills, exploring half-empty boxes, jumping onto each and every shelf (as if there might be something different about the ‘next’ one.) True, they were a bit cowed by a large jay outside the window as he scolded them from the deck. But even though they cowed, at least they didn’t run away.

Then this afternoon the door bell rang and they lost their nerve. One under each bed, and I had to coax them out afterward at that. Good grief. Two steps forward, one step back I guess. Glad it isn’t worse.

We’ve arranged and rearranged and re-re-arranged furniture. We’ve also been trying to empty boxes out of the garage but have now reached the point where nothing else will fit in the house so things are going back out, not coming in.

And I keep bumping into things. Boxes or furniture or walls – I am full of bruises. I even have one spectacular lump on my arm.

My sister is also having ‘challenges.’ She’s trying to get new countertops installed; has had a saga of disconnecting appliances and emptying cupboards only to find out that the material isn’t in or is damaged or whatever and then has to put her kitchen back together again. And again. And again, evidently. Weeks worth of that. That might be more than one step back, actually.

All this is just to say that maybe ‘under the bed’ is a good idea.