Move On

Pinchloaf and I moved last weekend, from a third floor walk-up (essentially) to a townhouse across the street in Fairlington. We hired movers, and after six grueling hours, they got everything out of the old place and crammed into the new. And now we're in the process of digging out.

The cats have officially come out of hiding now, but they're still reluctant to explore the entire house on their own. I know Dena's been down to the basement a couple of times, but I'm not sure if Archie's aware of the existance of a third floor. He will be eventually, when we move the litter box from the would-be nursery on the top floor down to its proper home in the basement, but for now, he's content with dealing with just two stories. The basement is pretty much a disaster scene anyway, so it's not like there's much to see down there.

The oddest thing about the move is that all three of our old neighbors came out of the woodworks in our last days there and were the friendliest they've been in the entire 2.5 years we lived there. The ones who lived directly across the hall are selling us a gorgeous GORGEOUS china cabinet for super-cheap. We're thrilled, as it will solve a lot of our kitchen storage problems in the new house (as in, we have no kitchen storage), but it's a little odd that everyone's so nice now. Are they just secretly relieved that we're leaving? Were we horrible neighbors and just didn't realize it? I guess anything possible!

Our appointment to find out if Chauncey (what we've been calling the fetus, in jest) is a boy or a girl is on Friday afternoon. I'm trying not to think about it ALL the time, so I just think about it about 75% of the time. I'm DYING to know. Simply dying. So yeah...no surprises for us, unless he/she decides not to cooperate, which is a distinct possibility, I know. Pinchloaf and I are both pretty stubborn, although neither of us is particularly shy. Fingers crossed that we're shown the goods!