laramie

It's icy cold, but the air is still and the sun is shining in a clear blue sky. The prospect of showing the house is looming before me. I agreed that Corrine could start showing on Saturday; this means that I have to be prepared to be elsewhere on short notice. (If I'm there it's harder for prospective buyers to visualize the place as their own.) I'm already feeling displaced, picturing myself as an urban nomad: drifting between cafes and libraries and the mall – finding places where I can plug in my laptop and write for a couple hours at a time, stopping at home for pit-stops in which I feed the cats and do a spot of cleaning and packing. My imagination tends to exaggerate; I hope things won't get as bad as all that.

I got a call from Sam last night; she was given a pair of tickets to a high school performance of Fame, and invited me to go along with her – tonight. I think I will; I've got a lot to do, but Sam doesn't get many nights out and I want to encourage her in this. Plus I've never seen the show. I'll have to get up early on Saturday to do the dishes and laundry in time to vacate the house for Corrine, but I should start getting used to that.

Tigger has been moving his home-base around the kitchen lately: first he made his outpost in the niche under the counter where there's a heat vent; then he moved to a spot beside the stove for a few days, now he's stationed himself on the kitchen table, and I've placed a folded towel there for him to recline on. He's gradually making himself more accessible to me, but his comfort-zone is still too small to include either of the kitty-litter pans: one in the basement and one in the upstairs bathroom. If I don't get downstairs early enough or home early enough to let him outside to do his business, he has taken to using the dustpan in its niche beside the broom and mop. I'm a little impressed by his aim, but otherwise distressed that he's doing this in the kitchen.