A Forest Than A Street

Drusy is so adorable your heart could stop.

About a week ago, our kitchen fridge started making a heeeeee haaaa heeeeee noise, not unlike Felix Ungar’s hinky sinuses. Pete whacked it a few times and unplugged it. We moved everything into the now-packed spare fridge in the basement, so it wasn’t a crisis, but running down and up the stairs was hard for me. Pete’s dad owns the house, but he was visiting relatives on the other side of the country and not fridge-shopping. Even though we had stuff to do, lives to lead and influence to peddle, we put those nefarious deeds mostly on hold and spent our evenings hunting for a deal. A treasure hunt through appliance stores can be exciting if you’re into it, but staring at ice machines makes for shitty blogging. Last Friday, Pete and his dad bought a fridge. It was delivered today and is cooling off now. In a bit, I’ll start moving things from the basement to the kitchen. As problems go, this one was small and annoying, but time-consuming and attention-hogging. Putting it behind us will be a pleasure.

The cats freaked with people in the house. Their fur stood on end and they went Full Kitty Invisible for a couple of hours. I later found Sweetpea in a spot behind the couch where I’d looked for cats and did not find them, but Topaz and Drusy’s hiding spots remain mysterious. As I write, Topaz crouches on the dining room table, blinking slowly at me. The noise and the hubbub were too much for them, which makes them cuddly and suspicious now. Sweetpea snores softly on the couch and Drusy crunch-crunch-crunches kibble in the new quiet of the kitchen.

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