Exciting and pleasant news: I will be moving this summer, to a house about a mile from my current, extraordinarily cute little ranch. The new place is somewhat larger and somewhat Japanese in flavor, a common thing for college professors designing their homes from the ground up in the 1960s. It has a giant walk-out basement, which I certainly do not currently need, but giant walk-out basements always come in handy eventually. In spite of the large size it will actually be cheaper than my current place, though I expect that difference to be largely eaten up by heating all that space under the 14′ cathedral ceilings.
While this is a good thing, it is also a stressful thing — moving always is; moving in the summer, for a woman who works intensive workshops every summer, is worse — and it’s a sad thing. I have been feeding these squirrels, these birds, for three years. I will send the next few months tapering the food I put out to a smaller amount so that they start foraging elsewhere, and the babies don’t stay so close. I will spend the next three months feeling like a monster. I comfort myself with the thought that summer is the perfect time for everyone to be able to sort this out, and that, even if I leave these guys, I will have an entire six acres’-worth of other little animals.
And yet, three months of feeling like a monster looms in my headlights. This morning, I found that I was trying not to look out the window, even though I put out just as much food today as I did yesterday, even though as far as they are concerned, nothing has changed, and they certainly don’t stay up late at nights whispering about how great I am, for a human. I have spent many years sorting through why I have Zero resistance to coping with the suffering — or even discomfort — of animals, even though I cause plenty of it, as when I deny my cat access to roast chicken or push her off the bed.
In unrelated news, that damn cold is returning, or perhaps it is a different cold? I usually don’t have relapses, so ugh. I’ll go see Captain Marvel this afternoon, and then tonight I expect I’ll watch Republic of Doyle, a highly engaging Rockford Filesish show from Canada. Comfort watching.