So we knew that my front yard was a cat-pooping zone (what with the cat poop on the grass and all), but I think much more than that it's a cat gathering-place. It's a very safe yard, with a 3-foot fence all the way around except for the two small gates which are only ever partly open, plus two trees and then a wide front porch: in general, not a place you'd really be surprised by an enemy, and many avenues of escape.
I mention this because when I got home fairly late tonight, there were two cats sitting on my front walk, looking at me. One of them came back and seemed to have some intention of coming inside, while I was bringing groceries in from the car. They seem pleasant enough.
I love my new house. It's small, and quiet, and cheap, and smells like wood. Jeff, my new housemate, is really cool and fun, and apparently runs on a schedule four hours out of phase with mine, and I've scarcely seen him this week. There's light everywhere, lots of windows, and no deep interior spaces where light can't reach. Some of the colors are delightfully quirky: the bathroom and my office are a nice saturated bright yellow (I don't usually like yellow) with marvelous blue doors (I love blue). I'm realizing both how little of Houseness I actually used, and how cluttered my living spaces have been over time. My bedroom is fairly small, and I don't have the floor or wall space to have crap everywhere the way I'm used to. I'm hoping this will aid me in getting rid of stuff, and finding places for what remains. I think it will end up being very like storing stuff on a boat, actually.
I have these little knots of tension floating around my consciousness, that end up being the mental equivalents of stones in my shoe, or the pea under the mattress. I can't quite put my finger on them, and they're impossible to fish out, but their presence agitates me just a bit, feeding worry and doubt and insecurity. I just have to keep going.