A lazy, quiet, Saturday.

It is a bright and beautiful summer day here in New Jersey. Living on the top floor of our two-apartment house, we leave all of the blinds open during the day. It allows the sunshine to dance on the hard wood floors and every time you look outside, all you see is trees. Sometimes I pretend we live in a tree house. It's so sunny and warm that it makes it hard to believe just 3 and half short months ago there was still snow on the ground. It also makes it hard for this California girl to believe that in just about 4 months, there will be snow on the ground again.

My handsome fiancé and myself were supposed to pack up the ice chest full of snacks, beer, and excellent decisions and head to the beach today. I'm trying to get as many trips in as I can before school (aka: the mayhem) begins. But after working a 70 hour week, a machine called "The Wheel" decided to break (again) and he had to go into work on a SATURDAY to fix it. It's just criminal, I tell you. But he took it like a champ, got out of there by 11, and took me to do one of my favorite things in the world- shop for more school supplies. I say more because I've already gone once this week. Now I have two stylish binders complete with brand new pens and pencils and little dividers and folders for each of my classes. Nothing can cheer me up quite like the stationary aisle at Target can. We plan on trying for the beach again early tomorrow morning. Early (sigh) because we want to get a good spot.

It is nearing 2 in the afternoon now and Jason is napping. Not surprising after working more than 70 hours in only 5 and a half days. I, on the other hand, decided to distract myself with my favorite pastime- writing- because however exhausting it may be to work 70 hours in one week, I would suffice it to say that it is almost as exhausting to be completely alone for 70 hours in one week.

Well, that's not fair. I'm not alone anymore. I now have my kitty cat Augustus who keeps me wonderful company, if I do say so myself. He yells (meows) at me when I'm doing something wrong, cuddles me when he's waking up from yet another nap, and has no problem letting me know when he wants to play fetch no matter what important show I'm watching or book I'm reading. Yes, my cat plays fetch. He admittedly plays fetch better than any dog I've ever played fetch with, in fact. He stays very focused. He only stops going to get the ball after over 20 times of bringing it back to me because he is suddenly oh so exhausted and falls wherever he is standing to take, you guessed it, another nap.

I love him.

Yeah, life is pretty good. I miss home, sure. Especially on long days like the ones I had this week where the waiting never seemed to end... Waiting for Jason to get home, waiting for the weekend, waiting for my birthday in New York, waiting for school and my life to start... A lot of waiting. I feel as though I've spent the past 7 months of my life waiting. Which draws quite an excellent parallel to our lives, I suppose. Aren't we always waiting for something?

Voltaire said, "We never live; we are always in the expectation of living."

However, on the 2 week home stretch of this 7-month excursion of which I have found myself, I am declaring, right here and right now, to live. I will finish the book I'm writing. I will go to the beach. I will read and nap and enjoy the downtime I have left. Because I have a feeling 17 units of classes will quickly make me miss all of this expectation of living.

Until next time.

-City Girl from Cali

Augustus.

When Jason and I decided to move here, we brought up the idea of getting a pet and then, overwhelmed by so much as it was, quickly dismissed this idea. We decided then and there that it was not going to happen. Too much expense, too much work, blah, blah, etc. "We're going to get in and get out," he told me, as if we were going off to war or planning a one night stand. No attachments.

Well... about five and a half months later, we now have an Augustus. A half pound, striped, grey ball of love. I've never been a cat person; I've always had dogs so I've always considered myself a dog person. (Augustus is staring at me now as if he knows what I'm typing and is quite offended by it.) But, I can safely say that I am now, also, a cat person because I have fallen head over heels in love with this cat.

Talk of changing our mind about the "in and out with no attachments" plan began around the time when Jason came home every night to a fiancé who had spent most of her day balled up on the couch in tears with a case of the most pathetic and lonely homesickness you've ever seen in your life. "I need a dog," I told him, eyes swollen, as if I was pleading for my life. "I can't do this anymore without a dog."

To me, having a dog would not only give me work to distract me from how much I miss home, but it would dull the ache of how much I'm alone here. I would have a companion. Someone I could talk to, allowing me to feel slightly less insane than when I talk to myself. It was like a beam of light at the end of the tunnel, a beacon of hope, if you will.

Jason immediately understood, however, (being a cat person), also immediately began trying to convince me to get a cat instead. Telling me that they are less work, less expensive, and just as awesome. I was skeptical, but decided to let the fates decide. (i.e.: our landlord.) Our lease was unclear on our even being able to get an animal, so we e-mailed her to ask about it. After saying she needed a week to think it over, she responded by saying she would be okay with us getting a cat. Jason showed me her email, smug and triumphant. It was settled. No puppy for me.

In the couple of weeks to follow, I found myself looking at pictures of kittens and trying to get myself excited. I just hadn't had much experience with cats and the ones that I'd met over my years always seemed so indifferent about, well, just about everything. 

I was also incredibly nervous on the way to the animal shelter. I felt almost as if I was on my way to a first date, or something. 

When we entered the room labeled "Kittens", I had no idea how in the hell we were supposed to pick one. You know that old saying, "When you know, you know." I looked at the black and whites, the orange tabbies, and even the gorgeous all white ones... but then I saw Augustus. His big, green eyes staring right at me from the front of his cage. Without anyone even saying a word, the lady opened the cage and handed him to me. And I knew.

There was about an hour's worth of paperwork and adoption applications to go through, during which time I spent panicking that something might go wrong and I would have to leave without this 9 week old kitten melting into my chest and falling asleep there. I was literally sweating.

When everything was finalized and they said they would get us a carrier to bring him home in, relief and joy flooded my being. I finally had a little buddy of my own. Even when he gets kitty litter all over the bathroom floor or whines at me, meowing/yelling, until I pick him up and give him a snuggle; I'm still grateful. Even as I've been trying to writing this, he has bit the shit out of my hand for using it to type instead of pet him; I'm still grateful. Because I can tell that he already loves me just as much as I love him and I didn't even know how much I needed that.