#453: The Doorway, Part 1

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The doorway into my bedroom is a wooden door that’s quite slim and tiny. It’s difficult to get in sometimes if you’re carrying something. When Mike and I were carrying my desk from the apartment back to the new home, we thought about bringing it through the doorway, but then remembered it would be impossible. It’s too tiny, and the curve around the hallway makes it exceptionally difficult to manage holding something like that. So instead, we went in through the door that leads outside, the one right by the bathroom. It was easier for us to manage and made the moving process so much better.

But this blog post isn’t about something as mundane as the doorway leading into my room. Instead, I want to talk about how the doorway leads to a certain escape (to borrow a term from a previous blog) from one small cat, the same cat that loves leaving the room as soon as possible and roaming around all over the place, leaving its hair on the ground and chewing on whatever seems to be chewable in the nearby vicinity. He’s a monster, but he’s my monster, and I love that about him. He’s the exact type of cat I imagined getting all those weeks ago, and he’s fulfilled all the obligations he has. He’s the type of cat that meows when you see him, and he lays down on the floor as soon as you walk in because he wants you to pet him and love him. He’s beautiful and a bundle full of love.

The doorway, however, is what allows him to roam around more. It’s not that him going around the downstairs is a bad thing, necessarily; it’s good that he’s able to explore and manage life on his own. He’s a good boy, after all.

#137: The Roomba

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It’s time to talk about another invention that’s made its way into our home: the Roomba.

Angus’s hair is absurd. We clean the apartment at least once a week, sometimes more often depending on how much hair is strewn across the couch, floor, rug, and bed. Sometimes, we have to clean the comforter and mattress to compensate for Angus’s sporadic attempts at jumping on the bed at night, even when we tell him not to. That’s where the Roomba steps in.

We bought a Roomba not too long ago by the time this post will be published, and it’s been an absolute godsend for our sanity and cleaning abilities. The Roomba is set for a specific time, twice a week, and it unloads itself from its holder and goes off. It’s an incredible invention that sucks up all the hair from the rug and floor, including the bathroom and bedroom, too. I remember my uncle used to have one, and I’m not sure what happened to it, but this hunk of junk is anything but junky. It saves us time, and has already helped our cleaning sensibilities. We only have to vacuum every once in a while since getting the Roomba, and when we do, it’s usually not much.

One of my fears originally about getting the Roomba was that Angus would be afraid of it, or would chase it around the apartment. He actually doesn’t seem to mind it at all and lets it do its thing. Again, this invention has saved so much time for us.

But above all, we love Angus so much. He’s a bundle of joy and excitement and honestly, earnestly fills our lives with happiness whenever he’s around. I hope he’s doing well now, sitting at home by himself without anyone around. I always worry about him a little bit when I go off to work.

#131: The Door

abandoned ancient antique arch

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Since time immemorial, we have always had trouble with the door to our apartment. Whether it’s a problem involving the keys not working or there’s something wrong with the key scanner, it feels like trouble follows us when it comes to this door. Our apartment, otherwise, is great; the features, amenities, setting, and more have been consistently wonderful to experience as a newly-embarking apartment owner. But that damn door…

This all took place on Tuesday and Wednesday. Alex was on her way home, arrived at our doorstep and realized, upon trying to unlock it, that her keys weren’t registering on the key scanner. She knocked and knocked on the door, and sooner or later I realized what was going on. I got up, opened it for her, and sat back down at my desk.

Later, when Alex took Angus out to pee, she took my keys with her, thinking that the problem involved only her keys. Turns out, not a minute or two later, I heard another knocking on the door. (This is beginning to sound like the plot of “The Raven,” isn’t it? It wasn’t a gentle rapping on my chamber door.) Neither of our keys worked.

Finally, after attempting both keys, Alex went downstairs again to talk with the people at the concierge desk. She told them about all of our many frustrations involving the door, including what had happened both times we tried to get in.

When I got home the next day, I could hear Angus moaning in his crate, waiting for someone to come rescue him, as my keyfob flashed red on the scanner. It was heartbreaking to witness.

One of these days, our keys and the door itself will work fine, without any issues. Today was not one of those days, unfortunately.