More snow last night, and the cat is disgusted. But at least he gets to go outside and make his own decisions about it. The poor boy doesn't know that he's about to become an indoor city cat, in a tiny apartment; that his only opportunities to play outside will involve an embarrassing harness and leash. Still, as a cat raised by a poodle, he may grudgingly come around. She spent the last years of her life training him to enjoy family walks and other un-cat-like sociable activities. For a cat, he's pretty gregarious, so it may be just me who's embarrassed by the leash. I never thought I'd turn into one of those eccentric ladies who ambles around town with her cat. It's hard to predict what the fates have in store for us.

It also never occurred to me that, at the age of 52, I'd be reliving the housing choices of my youth. But paring down for the apartment is turning out to be a fun his-n-her activity, in a hectic, foolish, snap-decision kind of way. ["Hey, we don't have a dishwasher, so let's only pack the plates that are too delicate to put into a dishwasher!" "Hey, we could store kitchen equipment in your stereo cabinet!" "Hey, I'm going to make the cat a giant box castle out of all of these packing materials!"]

Of course, the housing choices of my youth did not involve a 180-degree view of the Atlantic Ocean, so there is that difference.