Nearly a year ago now, Kurt arrived in Victoria with a teal cat carrier containing our large furry beast of a cat, Harley. We figured that a short-ish plane ride would be less traumatizing for him than watching our house empty out and relocating to the Rock, which gets ridiculously hot in the summer and (apparently) has a rampant flea problem. It was a very hard decision...he's been my little pal since I first moved to Ottawa and adopted him, and I couldn't imagine not having him welcome me when I got home from work each day, curl up at my feet each night, or wake me up with his solo cat parties on the stairs.

Life with the grandparents is treating him well. Not only do his days start with a carefully trimmed piece of organic free-range chicken (purchased and cooked especially for him), but he has also expanded his boundaries to include the patio in the backyard, where he can chew on grass, watch birds (apparently lacking that instinct to conquer and kill), and roll around on the hot patio stones. West Coast life is good...but haven't I been saying that all along?

Just a little over a month until we'll be reunited with our son. We can only hope that the organic chicken, daily brushings, and general indulgence he has been enjoying won't cloud his memories about how I SAVED him from an untimely DEATH back in '02. If I get one bit of attitude from that cat, there will be trouble.