The Cats Are Free

We let the cats free last Saturday so the nursery could be painted.

Zoulie, traumatized, has spent most of her time since hanging around the top of the stairs, crying for attention, hiding where possible. On her first day of freedom, she wedged herself in the space between the wall and the mini fridge and could not get out. Pathetic.

Mojo is so happy that he trills and rubs against my legs every time he sees me.

Peeps doesn’t seem to trust her good luck, but rather runs away every other time she sees me, perhaps worried that she’ll be thrown back into her prison.

Two out of three of them clearly prefer the dusty, cold cement floors of the unfinished downstairs to the warm, comfy carpet of their old home. Cats are stupid that way. They’d rather be uncomfortable if it means they can do as they please.

As for their old home, it was FILTHY. Vacuuming hadn’t really been a possibility when all the boxes were in the room. Once they were removed, you could see the film of cat hair that lay upon the exposed parts of the carpet. Litter abounded and the smell of cat was unbearable. I went in there armed with a vacuum cleaner with a dirt sensor, and I did not come back out again for at least a half an hour.

What have they done with their new home? Well, we’ve already learned that they cannot be trusted with a loose bag of trash. Shredded. We should have known that, given how Peeps always tips over any waste-paper basket she finds. I guess she just loves trash. They also cannot be trusted to stay out of the sink. There are paw marks all over the kitchen. They have all, I am sure, discovered the dirtiest parts of the house and are conscientiously spreading the dirt around more evenly. That is how much they love us.

The cats are dirty but the nursery is clean and almost ready for Baby!

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