My cat has become a balcony slut.
In the old place - y'know, the one with the awesome view of all the tasty water birds in the pond - my cat would remain outside for about thirty seconds, tops, before demanding to be let back inside. Here, she's at the door the second I start putting on my coat to head out for a smoke, and refuses to come back in for several minutes after I'm done.
I don't understand my cat. Then again, are cats really understandable?
Below is a fair approximation of our living situation:
Of course, it's not like that now. We have boxes absolutely everywhere. But the living room's put together enough for the cat to enjoy her new loveseat and recliner. She lets me sit on them sometimes. I appreciate her generosity.
Tomorrow, I get to determine where the fuck I put all of the shelf pegs. Without them, shelving the bajillion boxes of books will be a non-starter. There's a trillion and one things to do before we're fully settled. But so far, living on our own is awesome indeed.