1. There is a dumpster in the driveway, waiting for us to clean out the garage. As soon as that task has been accomplished (no easy feat, believe me), we can start moving all of the boxes I’ve packed into the garage and make the rest of the house look de-cluttered.
2. Our contractor guy is coming to install our new kitchen cabinet doors tonight and tomorrow night (he has a day job, so evenings and weekends are kind of his thing). It’s looking like most of the interior work that needs to be done on the house will be finished by Sunday. I almost can’t believe that. I have a feeling we’re going to find at least a half-dozen other projects as soon as he’s finished.
More motivation to move:
1. Yesterday, it was raining on & off, and the cats were driving me insane wanting to either go outside or come back in, depending on the weather. I finally gave up and left the door open for them. Mistake! Beaumont came running in with a still-alive, mostly-disemboweled mouse, and dropped it in the front hall. No one else was home but me. Lucky, lucky me. I won’t get into the details of how I dealt with it, just in case any of y’all are eating while you read this. But my stomach still knots up every time I think about it. And seriously, the whole incident put me in such a foul mood that for a couple of minutes there I would’ve been happy to load up all four cats and drop them off at the nearest shelter.
2. This morning, as soon as I got home from dropping Cate off at Patsy’s house, I had to run into the backyard to chase off a coyote. Again.
When I first moved out here, I wondered if I would know a coyote on sight, or if I would just think it was an exotic-looking dog. You know how a lot of people cross-breed their Siberian Huskies with wolves or whatever? I wondered if it would be something like that, and I’d be all “oooh, hello puppy,” and then get my face bitten off. Well, let me reassure you, if you ever see this in your backyard:
You’ll know without a doubt in your mind that that is a f’ing coyote. And if you’re anything like me, you will wig the hell out. I don’t know how bright it is of me to go running toward the coyote screaming at it to go away, but I guess the whole cat-owner instinct takes precedence over common sense sometimes.
It’s funny how my southern redneck heritage comes out during moments like this, though, because I swear that I actually screamed, “GO ON! GIT!!” Which, dude. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time that’s ever come out of my mouth. At least I didn’t call him a varmint or say dagnabbit or anything like that. I’ll save that for the next coyote.