This brief feline interlude has been brought to you by a very stressful little thing called Moving in December.  'Tis the season for overcommitment!  I know it doesn't rhyme, but I don't have time to agonize over syntax right now (or to wonder if I used the word syntax correctly).

As you can see from the way she's clutching the drawer, Fatty could care less that there are moving boxes in one corner of the apartment and piles of clothes heading to Beacon's all over the bed.  Petey, on the other hand, has been even more fidgety than usual and will occasionally let out a harrowing wail as he paces from one end of the apartment to the other.  He's taken to laying all over the boxes in a very obvious display of denial.

Long story short, our landlord is coming home to her apartment in January, and our sublet in the stodgy but oh so well located co-op is over.  Our next step?  Moving down the hall.  Seriously.  There's an empty apartment that is available for sublet and after much stalling and nail biting, we should receive the keys sometime* today.  I'm leery of telling the whole story here on the interwebs, otherwise known as naked land where everything is permanent and accessible to prying eyes.  Basically, it did not need to be this drawn out and ridiculously close to not happening in time for both christmas and the end of our lease.  Certain parties involved wanted certain things that they should not have been entitled too, but they negotiated their way into what they wanted at the expense of my sanity.  Yes, we could have tried harder to find another rental that wouldn't have involved such waiting and lack of control, but who wouldn't want to move down the hall? to a brighter apartment? and pay the same rent?  and live in exactly the same location that you were depressed about leaving?  So I suppose it was worth it.

*I say sometime because, in keeping with all other communication with these people, we have not been told when the owner is planning to stop by today.