I had a cat in 400 sq ft. When I moved to larger places, she mostly still prefers to live in a basket in my closet.
Spike ,'Sleeper'
Natter 73: Chuck Norris only wishes he could Natter
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, butt kicking, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
I had two cats in 475 sq ft studio in NYC. They seemed very happy as long as there was a window to threaten birds though.
Close. Backstory: I had a friend in the FAC who called me Teppy (this was pre-Buffistas).
How DID she get to using the second, third, and fourth letters of your name as the basis for a nic? Where there an abundance of Stephs?
I had an 18 lb dog in a 196 square foot apartment. We were also between Central and Riverside Parks, however.
{{{{{{Hugs for everyone!}}}}}}
I have a number of Facebook friends whose online identities I'm not quite sure of aside from being buffistas.
This is me, too. I've always been quester. I started out on Figure Skating boards before I found Table Talk and you guys.
But my real-ish name is Toni, in case anyone is wondering who recently got friend requests from me.
I think the age of the cat also depends on how (and therefore you) would handle loving in a small space. I don't know my square footage, but I'm over a two car garage. My two cats are about 8 years old and this winter have been quite content to be house cats and sleep a lot. If they were the kittens they used to be, then I'd worry about losing sleep as they did suicide runs back and forth in the small space.
196 square foot apartment.
Your apartment was a whole 196 square feet?
Good morni--crap. Good evening, Buffistas. Except probably Shir and Nilly? Good morning to them? Round globes are hard.
Pretty good day. Roughest part was the Nightly Homework Buckin' Bronc Ride.
Em's doing math, multiplying decimals. Which, hey, I remember that as being a pain in the ass. And, really, what the homework is is correcting a quiz they already had in-class.
(Brief aside: I guess the current philosophy of teaching allows for "Take it home, correct it, and bring it back before it's graded". Real second-chance stuff. And that is awesome! But I am old enough to use the phrase "in my day" and, in my day, if you got it wrong the teacher's response was generally "That's wrong; guess who should look into HVAC certifications?" But, I digress.)
Naturally, some of Em's answers are wrong because, hey, fifth grade. That's not the problem. The problem is, when I as gently as possible point that out to her ("Hey, so...how'd you get that answer, 'cause, uh..." rather than the old-fashioned "Wrong! Try again!" followed by a whip-crack) I get "NO, IT ISN'T!! I DID IT RIGHT! HOW COULD IT BE WRONG, I DID IT RIGHT?! AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!" and she stomps off to her room. Five minutes later, breathing hard and red-faced, she returns, flops down and, growling like a starved badger, attempts the problem again with my gentle guidance, correcting the problem. Right answer achieved, lesson learned...until the next problem. "AAARRRRRGGGGHHH!! I DID IT RIGHT, I DID!! HOW CAN IT BE WRONG?!" Stomp, stomp, pause, flop, growl like badger.
It's fucking EXHAUSTING, dudes.
That's why my mother stopped helping me with my homework.
Sounds a lot like what goes on in my brother's house with the newly minted 12 year old boy. Add in the new to him hormone tsuris and a 7 year old going on 15, it's just a dramafest. My SIL had not been enjoying this phase ("I'm the dramatic one in this family! One is enough!")
Allyson, I hope you have tea and a cupcake and are nestled in a pile of blankets.