Here’s a fun experiment to try. First, change the bed and put a new duvet cover on. Then take some clear apple juice and put it in a saucepan. Set it on the stove, and gently heat it till it’s about the same temperature as the average baby’s bath water (you can test it with your elbow to be sure), and then fill a hot water bottle with it and go through to the bedroom. Hold it over the bed, remove the cap and press both sides simultaneously, sending a strong squirt of yellow liquid all over your nice clean duvet cover.
That’s what it’s been like since we moved, as our elderly cat does not seem to be adjusting well to life in Edinburgh (for apple juice, substitute – well, you get the picture). Ah, well – at least we know the washing machine works.
As for the move itself, that wasn’t as much fun as it could have been, but no disasters. The loading went fine at the Somerset end on Monday – they had plenty of guys on the job. But when they arrived in Edinburgh (an hour late, about 4pm) the next day, there was only one man – the driver – as the other had reported in sick. (I’d asked Margaret to make sure they knew about the 55 steps, and I guess her description was a little too vivid…) So anyway the driver spent over 3 hours that night slogging boxes and furniture up to the flat all on his own, until he looked like an extra from a low budget zombie movie and had to go sleep in his cab.
Next day, the company had hired a local guy to help, but he couldn’t come till 9.30am, so the poor old driver had another couple of hours on his own. Then they really got down to it, but even so it took them till 3.30 to get it all in, some 100+ boxes of books and stuff, plus beds, dressers, desks, you name it – by which time neither of them could stand up unaided. The poor old driver then had to drive all the way back to Somerset by himself, which meant he wasn’t allowed to drive next day (working time directive), so he couldn’t work and so would miss a day’s pay – so he was not a happy bunny.
Anyway, we’re here now, and it’s starting to feel like home, mostly because the house is full of unpacked boxes of stuff, just like all our homes tend to be. Not much time for knitting with all this stuff to be put away, but the lounge, the bedroom and the kitchen are mostly sorted now. The hi-fi is up and running, the cds are on the shelves (and in order) and all’s right with the world.
We’ve also found the local supermarket, so we can stock up on apple juice, and – .
Thanks for posting. I was wondering how it was going.
Too bad about the cat. I wonder if Feliway would help. It’s supposed to calm down cats that are fighting, so maybe the calming pheromones would help your cat feel at home.
55 steps! That reminds me of when I helped a friend move (just us two for much of it), but that was only about 44 steps. That poor man. I hope he at least got a good rest.
May I venture to suggest that the poor elderly cat may be diabetic and suffering from an infection of the urinary tract? Urinating in inappropriate places is often the first real indication that the pet owner gets about diabetes (because of the resulting UTI). At least it was just the duvet – I have an entire room of ruined wall-to-wall carpeting that I refuse to replace until the elderly cat passes on, even though there have been no new ‘accidents’ in a year. Unfortunately, she is thriving and perfectly in balance with her daily insulin injections and may well outlive us all! So, we endure the periodic resurgence of malodorous emanations on damp days. It is in the guest room… so guests would do well to appear only in the dry season. If your cat hasn’t been for a checkup lately, it might be a good idea; and could save further damage to soft furnishings.
So glad you are starting to feel at home. The ‘transition’ time has been protracted and you have probably had quite enough of it by now.
I’ve just started reading ‘The Goshawk’, and loved the introduction (a rare thing – I often skip over it entirely). So far, so good.
Hi Tamar and Suzanne, good to hear from you! Re the cat – named Piff, after the wonderful Epiphany Vogel, a character in Tim Powers’ marvellous fantasy novel “The Drawing of the Dark”, for whom I still carry a torch – yes, we’ve been pumping the flat full of pheromones (which probably explains my sinus problems and the way cats’ bottoms now seem curiously appealing); and she’s been on antibiotics, and is no stranger to the vet’s, and we don’t think it’s diabetes or an infection. But you’re right, it’s something we’re on the watch over. At the moment she seems to get over-excited now and again on a full bladder and – whoops – there we are. I think it might just be the effect of putting an elderly cat in new surroundings (she is 19, after all). Your experience, Suzanne, is not encouraging!
I took the mover guy a cup of tea at one point, Tamar (“builders’ tea”, as they say in Britain – very strong and enough sugar to stand a spoon up in), and he suggested I carry a drawer to one of the dressers back up with me. Fine, I thought, no problem, but about half way up my legs began to wobble and my arms began to shake with the weight. And that was just one drawer! God knows how he did it.
Good luck with the Goshawk, Suzanne. TH White was a strange, ornery, unhappy man, but the book has an extraordinary honesty about it, there’s no pose to it at all. Not always a comfortable read, but you know events haven’t been manipulated for literary effect (yes, I’m looking at you, Bill Bryson!).