Kris moved out yesterday. Moving day was pretty uneventful since she hardly has any belongings here. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but the job she got is as an accountant at a retirement community. One of the residents there recently lost his wife, and he wanted to downsize from a one-bedroom to a studio. He offered Kris his sofa, but she insisted that she couldn’t possibly take it for free, so he said to give a donation of $50 to the hospice that took care of his wife. (Aww.) Obviously, she did. And the couch is really nice, because apparently the stereotype about how old people take good care of their stuff is actually true.

Yesterday, Kris and I, along with our rented U-Haul van, went to the retirement community to pick up the couch. I was parked illegally, so I stood guard by the van while she and the maintenance man went to retrieve the couch. Two funny things transpired inside that I truly wish I had seen:

1) The little old man who gave her the couch? Wouldn’t let her pick it up. Because she’s a woman. Of course. So the maintenance guy and this 80 year-old man with a bad back had to lift it all by themselves. (I asked Kris if he knew that not one but TWO women would be solely responsible for unloading the couch at our destination point. She said, “No, I was afraid he’d try to hop in the van and come with us.”)

2) As she was leaving, he got a little emotional (remember, this poor man lost his wife less than a month ago) and he told her, “Well, I hope you have as many good times on that couch as we did.” Kris said that if he hadn’t been a very frail 80 year-old man, it would’ve sounded totally inappropriate, but still, her first thought was, “eww, thank God I’m getting a slipcover.” Apparently even the maintenance guy had to stifle a giggle on that one. I don’t know that I would’ve been able to hold it in, so it’s probably best that I wasn’t there.

After the Great Sofa Expedition, we headed back to our house to get her things here. Dave helped us load up, and came along to help us unload at her new apartment, which was great because it seemed to go ten times faster than it would have if it had just been Kris and me.

Anyway, her new apartment seems really nice, and I know it’s good for all parties involved for Kris to have her own space – it makes her feel more established about living here, and Dave may not wear pants around the house for a month. (Poor guy, I think he really missed Underwear Time.) But honestly, when we left her at her apartment last night, I felt like I was abandoning her, and I don’t know why. It was a pretty awful feeling, though.

Then we got back home, and there was no dog crate in our dining room anymore, and the house just seemed totally empty. I sat on the couch and cried. Yes, I love our cats, but I totally fell in love with Lucky, and I’ve been getting doggie kisses every day for the past 2 1/2 months, and I’m going to miss them terribly. Dave suggested what Angie said last week – that maybe we could get a puppy. I think he’s also hoping that it’ll distract me from this whole desparately-wanting-a-baby thing, although I don’t know if that’s the best motivation for getting a new pet. Last night, I missed Lucky so much that when he suggested it, I almost jumped off the couch and said, “Ok, let’s go to the shelter and get a dog now!” But I know it’s a big decision, so I’m going to think about it for at least a few weeks and then see how I feel about it.

The other reason I was upset last night is because Beaumont disappeared on Wednesday morning and I hadn’t seen him since. Dave’s cats (not Teenie, since she has no claws) spend most of the day outside hunting for mice, but they always come in at dusk when I stand on the deck and do the “here kitty-kitty” yell. Beaumont had been gone for well over 72 hours, and even though Dave told me not to worry because he was probably just out having fun, I kept having visions of him getting mauled by a coyote or hit by a car. He finally turned up late last night. I cried again when I found him (obviously, I’m a tad hormonal), although he seemed to care way more about his kibble than in apologizing for his extended absence. Dave called him a “dirty little stopout” – I think that’s his official new nickname.

Oh, and I might have spent the rest of the evening online looking at dogs on Petfinder and our local paper’s pet listings. Maybe.