My parents live in the house where I spent most of my childhood, but we were peripatetic and then some. I haven't lived there since I was 12.
And my parents have done just about everything possible to redo the house so it's not familiar at all.
Which is fair. There are a multitude of reasons I can't fit in it anymore.
Ooh. I don't Allyson reads this thread, so I'll mention the availability thing to her somewhere else.
My mother and stepfather still live (in the winter months) in the house where I grew up from the time I was two. They plan on selling it when my mother retires next summer, and I am sure I will be really sad when that happens.
Oh. Duh. That's what I was thinking, except backwards.
We seem to have acquired a cat.
He's an ugly thing. Well, not ugly, really, he's shorthaired, black and white, and actually fairly handsome, except for his tail. Which clearly was run over at some point, because he now has just a stump which was never taken care of, and is ... pretty gross.
Sara's been talking about him for weeks, and he's tame and friendly. Every time she runs out to him, he lets her pet him. She's been giving him water sometimes, and we've figured out he's been living in the bushes beside the porch.
Right now, we're sitting on the screened porch watching SPN by citronella light, and he's meowing and pawing at the door. And Stephen just fixed food and water and took it out to him.
I think his name shall be Winchester.
Oh, AmyLiz, how perfect! Or purrfect.
Oh, AmyLiz, how perfect! Or purrfect.
I think so. He's a survivor, and a little mysterious, not to mention a bit worse for the wear. Winchester fits.
He's a survivor, and a little mysterious, not to mention a bit worse for the wear.
Also, damaged. Don't forget damaged.
Definitely damaged. Poor baby.
I'm not sure where we're going with this, though. I mean, I don't think we're making him an indoor cat. I have no idea if he has fleas, and he needs to be seen by a vet. But we are going to feed and water him, for now.