Seclusion delusion.

I am officially a hermit!

No more coming home to Bubble greeting me by flopping around on the floor blissfully. No more catering to Enfoiré’s hunger before having him reward me with cuddles.

I no longer have pets to pet.

I can freely toss my hoodies over a chair without worrying about Enfoiré swallowing a piece of the drawstring, requiring a vet visit, as has happened before. No more waking up at 5am to the cats vaulting off me in a plea for crunchies. No more sopping up cat vomit with my socks while they’re on my feet. I can leave the bathroom door open without the cats sneaking in there to gnaw on the shower curtain liner. My electronic chargers, hair bands, and bra straps are no longer enticing snacks that need to be stored away.

Bubble was fussy and demanding, while Enfoiré had an eating disorder that ruled his demeanor. Despite their flaws, they were the best cats I’ve ever had.

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And so cute that they deserved 400+ photos and videos on my phone. I’ve even turned the cats into several animated gifs. Here they are reenacting The Lion King:

Several friends have asked if I’d consider getting my own cat, particularly since I’d already lost one in my previous separation, Blass.

It’s something I’ve always considered, but I’d never felt like I had enough stability to own pets. All the long-distance moving I’ve done would have stressed them out, and some cities are terrible for pet ownership, like Victoria.

Still, I am tempted.

These same inquisitive friends have also asked if I at least got the bed after I’d shared with them a photo of my sad entertainment set-up. A camping chair has replaced the couch:

Unlike the couch, camping gear hasn’t replaced the bed. The bedroom has remained mostly unchanged aside from the closet. I now have much more room in there to sift through my dated, torn wardrobe for something to wear in the mornings.

Without cats to photograph, my phone’s about to fill up with photos chronicling my bachelorette dystopia. I recognize that without a couch, the living room looks more like a dying room. Other than that, it’s not so bad: I still have real food in my fridge, and I don’t leave stinky, balled-up socks in the middle of the room: a habit every guy I’ve ever lived with had.

January will have to be a sofa-free month as the new place (yup, I got it!) comes partially furnished.

Deciding who got the toaster oven, blender, food processor, hand mixer was easy because I am the one who bakes, blends, processes, and mixes. Also, all these appliances belonged to me and predated the relationship, as did the tv.

Sadly, Yann ran off with the modem, wifi extender, and HDMI cable, depriving my tv of entertainment. The obvious solution was to replace these things and get my own internet account, except the internet is included in the rent of my new place. I considered going a month without the internet until I scrolled through the list of available wifi networks and had the idea to piggyback a fellow resident’s connection. I was able to pull this off by offering to cover their internet bill for January.

Now that what’s left in this place is my half, I’ve realized how much glass I own: Not just glasses to drink out of, but framed artwork, food storage jars, and even four lamps. My collection of breakables does not go well with my vagabond lifestyle. It’s a good thing I have access to lots of bubble wrap at work.

On Tuesday, the property management company sent an agent to take a video tour of the suite. If only I still had my collection of embarrassing products to display in the bathroom.

I do still own this quaint shower curtain tho:

Out of curiosity, I checked the property management company website for the listing yesterday. This video tour isn’t up yet, but I see that the rent has been reduced by $200!

HULK SMASH.

What’s stopping me from smoking indoors now? What are they going to do, kick me out? Maybe I’ll drag a live Christmas tree in here too.

Why stop there? I have the space for a portable jacuzzi as well!