Rolling like regular folks.

We squeaked into a movie after the trailers were done and just as the Technicolor Earth was spinning its representation of Universal Studios.  I felt like a rebel.  Don't mess with me, man, I find my seats when the movie starts.   Oh, these are your seats?   

This is unusual because we are Planners.  We Plan like nobody plans.  We are the entire Planning Board. We Plan until I want to fling myself out the door in my underwear in protest, but I can't decide which panties best articulate my wish to be spontaneous.  This obsessive Planning defines our project, and that both reassures me and sends me to my foundation undergarments.

We have made the decision that we can't list the house until the cats are out of it, which means we have to find homes first, which means we spread the word to everyone nice and catworthy we know.  Still, the masses are over-catted.  Maximum cattage has been achieved.  They are fully caturated.  So, according to this Plan we cannot even list the house with a cat in it, and when will that happen ... ?   It's making me quackers.  Our plan has hit a cat-jam.  So, the question, as I see it, is:

How many cats is too many for showing a house?   

[Transparent edit:  I am not saying this to guilt anyone into adopting cats!  I mean to say that I think it's time for us to edit our own plans.]

In the Dept. of Moving Forward, two of our friends (Dorothy and Chris) would like to see if Penny fits in their family.  I will miss Penny a lot.   But, with these friends, I would never worry one tiny worry-thought about her.  They stayed long enough to get acquainted with everyone and to make a connection.

Maria and MaryGail visited the Duck last night and met Carat, or vice versa.  We'll work on a new camping, uh ... plan.  Don't mess with me, man, I camp at the last minute.  Oh, is this your campsite?