...at least the non-human ones. This is Max, more accurately Maxine...
I already knew the human denizens before I moved in. And, for that matter, the cats. The various living beings make this a nice place.
It's still tiny, of course.
Work is on my mind tonight. I'm already beginning to feel a small sense of relief that the monthly nut has lowered considerably. What I was having to come up for in rent now covers everything -- the place, storage unit, utilities, food -- with a few coins left over.
Trash is on my mind, too. As in all the stuff coming out of the old pad. More of it will go straight in the dumpster, as I am already finding I can do what I do without it.
It's strange that we invest even small, insignificant items with a value well beyond their actual worth, simply because we got them under special circumstances or in interesting places. They rest in boxes or in the back of drawers, and contribute nothing to life except on those rare occasions when they come out (usually inadvertently) into the light.
And yet I hate to give them all up. My legacy for all these years is slim enough; taking away the trinkets seems to diminish me a little more.
Never mind. A lot of that is probably loneliness talking. I feel the lack of companionship acutely tonight.
At least this place is bustling with life. And strange new sounds, most of which have already become background noise.
Raccoons have returned to the neighborhood. So have opossums. They all seem to get along with the cats. And with the people.
3 hours ago