Moving on up to the west side......
2004-10-27 ~ 8:39 a.m.

I've moved 14 times in my life. 9 in the past 11 years (which is how long I've lived in Ottawa). You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

Apparently your tolerance level goes down as you age. I no longer have the patience for moving that I once had.

For the most part, our move went very smoothly. Nothing broken or lost (at least permanently), and all we're left dealing with is the myriad of boxes that have to be unpacked. We'll just plug away at those over the next week or so.

The highlight of the move came on Saturday night, when we almost lost Harry. The new place has a number of windows without screens, as they need to be replaced. I had opened one in the living room a little bit so that the air could circulate, and then got busy with the move and forgot about it.

We brought Harry and Tika over after everything else was moved in - otherwise Harry gets into everything and anything he can find, not to mention running out the door every time it opens. Seriously, this cat is weird and wonderful on the best of days, but moving day turns him into the Tasmanian Devil. You just can't stop him.(Tika just finds the darkest hole and stuffs herself in it for a few hours until the fervor dies down). Anyway, my cousin and I got to unpacking boxes and after a couple of hours I realized that Harry was MIA - this is surprising because no matter what room you're in, no matter what you're doing, he's gotta be part of it, even if it's just hanging out. *shrugs*

My cousin was looking out the window when she asked "Is that window open?" At which point I promptly had a mini heart attack, because I knew. Just knew that the little fucker had squeezed his scrawny ass through that window and out to freedom.

So we all trouped out to look for him. As an aside, let me note that looking for a black cat at night is not fun. I called out to him and shook his treat bag, but nothing worked. I was walking up and down the street, the feeling of panic beginning to get worse and worse. If D. hadn't gone in to the house to get a sweater, he wouldn't have noticed as he looked out the window a black tail disappearing under the shed in the back yard. Sure enough, it was Harry. I was so relieved.....I had been close to tears at that point.

So all's well that ends well. At least until the next morning, when he took off through a door that was open for 0.01 seconds. At least it was daylight and I was able to follow him. I lost it and yelled "get your fucking black ass back in here this second!", and I guess he realized that I meant business, because he streaked past me and back into the house.

Fucking cat. He'll be the death of me, I know it.

Anyway, other than the wiring for the lighting being a tad screwy (some lights in the basement where we have the tv don't work unless the dryer is on, and the kitchen and dining room lights dim each other when you turn them on), everything seems to be ok. Hopefully we won't have to move again for a few years.

And if we do? We're hiring movers. Don't care how much it costs. I'll take out a second mortgage. I don't care.

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