I bought a house just at the beginning of the year. In actuality, I negotiated and settled on a price with one hand on the cell phone and the other in our Christmas turkey. It was December 24, at 8 p.m.
We got a cute little "arts and crafts" cottage in a consummate southin' town with tile floors and, well, a kitchen that looks like this:
I will wait patiently while you compose yourself.
Yes, that really is a red kitchen with a mauve countertop.
Yes. The backsplash is for real.
You could stop laughing now.
Really. Now.
So! We moved in. Yeah, I know. They painted it that way. What were they thinking? I bought it that way. What was I thinking??
Still not too sure who the sucker is here. But anyway, it's nothing that 5 gallons of Kilz primer and a day that ends in me refusing to speak to my husband won't cure. Oh, and my husband? I call him Guns. Or "The Crackless Plumber." Depends on the day and whether or not he left the seat up.
I haven't mentioned cats yet!
Meet Darius:
And Solace:
And y'all already know Tom, Jr. He's one of the outside ferals of the "Scrappin' Tom" clan. You'll hear more about them later, I'm sure:
The purpose of this blog is to detail my adventures of a first-time homeowner in the crappiest real-estate market in ten years. Included, and mainly focusing on my adventures with a muddled and diverse mix of both tame and half-feral moggies in suburban USA, where I am apparrently the only resident who does not allow the four cats in residence to wee on everyone else's bushes.
Posts to come in the near future:
How Solace came to be.
How Darius became a freeloading bum in luxury.
Meet the two other resident kitties, and their stories.
The schizophrenic cat person: should I drive the Scrappin' crew away, or plant catnip? You Decide!!
Guns thinks I'm ignoring him. Off I go--!
