domesticated

I'll miss coming up the stairs and seeing the cats sunning themselves in the window - or greeting me at the French doors as I walk along the terrace.  Here, DandyLion - aka Bitzi - and Moth are looking remarkably reposeful: the Domestic Cats. They are very lucky indeed not to be cognizant of The Hell That is Moving.  When the guy came from the movers to count up the probable boxes and pieces of furniture and stray bicycles and guitars (well, only one of each, but they both symbolize, for me, a certain amount of wishful thinking so far as my expenditure of time goes) - when the guy came, my heart sank: it was a real case of Here We Go Again.  At least our efforts at Decluttering in the past have been so epic that this time around, we're talking about one large suitcase going to Goodwill -not garage sales and kerb-side giveaways and so on.

The cats may be domestic - so are we.  After eight plus years, the fact of buying a house together, and all its legal implications, propelled us towards the nearest notary in order to register as domestic partners (and it was a great reason to go out to dinner and have a bottle of fizz, as well, and celebrate how lucky we are, in all kinds of ways).