Today I spent the afternoon cleaning my living and dining rooms.  It was one of those very productive but invisible cleans: everything I’d shoved under the couch or in a cupboard got pulled out, sorted, cleaned, discarded if necessary, and reorganized for replacement in its proper home.  So even though I did housework for four hours, it looks about the same.  Only I know the true depth of my accomplishment.  Which isn’t really enough, so when Husband got home from work I paraded him around the apartment showing him where all the mess used to be.  (Which I realize now is mostly just me confessing to my bad housekeeping habits… hmm…)

You see, my landlord is coming next Wednesday to oversee the planning of the replacement of our patio planters.  I have this crazy idea that if the apartment is totally immaculate when he gets here, he will instantly see what a terrible mistake it was to say “no” to our requests for pets, and in a spasm of overwhelming guilt and remorse, he wil spontaneously offer to let us get a baker’s dozen of cats.  Of coure, what will really happen is he’ll say nothing and all this effort will be for naught… but anyway, I guess I do get to live in the nice clean apartment after it’s all done so what the hell.

I’m all achy and sore from the gym yesterday.  Lordy!  Everything aches!

I may reward myself with one of those new Starbucks smoothies, called Vanillos or Vivillos or Vananas or something.  I had the mango one yesterday (they can make it with soy milk instead of cow’s) and it was delicious!  As good as home made, only I don’t have to wash the blender!

I also shelled out seventeen bucks for cherries yesterday, and am just revelling in them.  Dark, sweet little orbs: How I love them!  I think cherries are my favourite fruit.  So when summer comes and I am presented with the option of purchasing them at shamefully high rates, I do.  I’d fill the tub with them if I could (afford it, that is).  Today I am eating only cherries for breakfast, which should have interesting repercussions for my digestive tract.  I will, as always, keep you posted.

By the way, I have been enjoying the conversation about homlessness, which all started because someone asked me to write about it.  It is extremely flattering to have strangers solicit my opinion as though it matters - which of course it doesn’t, outside this tiny blog.  At this stage in my life I have managed to accrue exactly zero power and influence.  But the point is, if you, loyal reader, have questions or topics you would be interested to have me address, do ask.  I live but to serve.

Or something.

p.s. - the landlord said no to cat.  Humbug!

Well.  No word yet from Workaholic Landlord and that can only mean one thing, because it simply isn’t possible that he hasn’t seen my email yet: he has planned to say NO to cat but can’t be bothered because he’s too busy adjusting his monocle and chortling over the credit crash in the States (WL surely prefers to buy low?).

Or, he wants to say YES to cat but really, really wants it to be super special for me and he’s planning a surprise party in which there will be dozens of cats for me to lounge with and select my favourite from.  There will be punch and cookies and music and a representative of every cat breed and colour!

Denial.  It makes the world go round.

Here’s some more: If we’re allowed to get a cat, it looks like what we’ll do is head down to the SPCA and select from among the adult cats, you know, the ones that are doomed for the big Dirt Nap because everyone wants a fluffy kitten.  Of course I can’t totally rule out being brain-commandeered by a fluffy kitten if I see one but my intentions are noble.  Also, since Husband is, at best, indifferent to cats, I figure an adult would be the best introduction to them.  No zany kitten antics.

Sigh.  Back to reality.

First no dog, and now no cat?  Should I downgrade my request?  Maybe next I could ask for a hamster.  If he still says no then I could ask for a lizard, then a bird, then a goldfish, then finally perhaps an aphid on a blade of grass in a tupperware jar.

Last year my landlord crushed me like a bug when he refused to let us get a dog.  Now I am hoping he doesn’t crush me a second time, because I have asked if we can get a cat.

Since he is a hard working professional who checks his email constantly, I imagine we’ll have an answer rather soon.  So, internet, you don’t have much time to focus all your energy on persuading him via the ether to say YES to cat.  Focus!

I will keep you posted on outcomes.