Yesterday morning, while lounging in bed (can you blame me? It was Sunday!) I got a call from my landlady. She was letting us know that we should clean out our fridge and move it, since she would be coming with a replacement fridge at 3:30 pm. I was pretty pleased about all the notice because it gave us a lot of time to get our apartment into landlady viewing mode – you know, that kind of clean that makes you hang up your favourite sweater instead of draping it on a chair. It also gave us an opportunity to go through our fridge and throw out some stuff. We had some frozen compost that we’ve been meaning to get to the bin downstairs.
So 4:30 rolls around, and she shows up, asking that we please just wait for another hour. Our response was obvious; where else were we going? Besides, Bad Santa was lighting up my computer screen and we were snacking on delicious hummus and pita. (A quick side note: my partner has always said that Bad Santa was one of his favourite movies so I agreed to watch it with him. I concur – it was hilarious, but not suitable for any audience that doesn’t like crass humour. Now I hope he’ll actually stay awake during my favourite movie, The Bicycle Thief.)
At around 6, she and some men brought the fridge upstairs with much difficulty. The fridge is pretty new, so it’s a bit more deep due to the coils being covered, and the doors are fairly narrow for that. But the fridge is about an inch and a half too tall to fit under the cupboards! And they didn’t take the old fridge with them! And because they laid the new fridge on its back to move it (which is a no-no because of how the fluids settle in the coils) so I can’t even turn it on until this evening!
And so, the old fridge has been plunked right in the middle of our living room. It’s plugged in to save the integrity of our yogurt and eggs. It’s humming until at least 4 o’clock this afternoon, because I don’t want to fry the innards of my new cold food making machine. It’s humming at me. It’s glaring at me. And my cats are loving it.
Bazorov is on the left and Patrick is on the right. They’ve been jumping up and down on it all day long, much to their delight. They’ve exhibited absolutely no interest in the new fridge which is probably a good thing since there’s now a giant space behind the fridge. We pushed the stove so that it’s immediately next to the fridge to keep cats from frolicking in that space.
It’s kind of ridiculous how that space makes me feel this anxious. I just don’t like the idea of my cat jumping up on the fridge and getting stuck behind there. I mean, if there are appliances working then there will be heat, and I don’t want them to get burnt. It’s also basically impossible to clean properly in there as often as I’d like and I don’t want them to inhale burning stinky dust. You know?
This may sound odd, but I really think of having cats as an enormous privilege. They’re my friends, and I’m lucky that they’re in my life. They have improved my existence tremendously, and help me keep myself in the present. I am a very anxious and perfectionist person and they really show me how to relax, which I appreciate. I try to repay them by keeping the house clean and neat and making sure they have everything they need to be happy but the idea of them getting hurt just makes me sad.
In an unrelated note (this is a knitting blog, right?) I’ve been doing a lot of knitting and crocheting lately. I’m crotcheting a hat, knitting two hats, and both knitting and crotcheting a project for Ariadne.
I’ve run into a rather consistent problem of running out of yarn. It’s so frustrating! The hat I’m crocheting is being so difficult – I’ve frogged it three times. I frogged the green hat four times. I ran out of the light purple Lang Yarns yarn for the pitcher plant hat, so I’m trying to build up the courage to just switch to the darker purple. No one will notice, right? It’s just the lining! But I hate that.
It’s also grey and rainy outside. Pass the french press, someone.
Maybe I should just take some time to look out the window. Or just relax.