Fetched Out

I've experienced some serious cabin fever these last few days. Our entire downstairs is right now unlivable (well we could live on a concrete floor if it wasn't dirty and if Theo wasn't always walking around trying to eat debris, but that's just not the way it is), and our upstairs isn't much better. All the stuff from our kitchen, living room, dining room, family room, laundry room, and downstairs closet (minus the big furniture) is now upstairs in our guest room and loft (today a co-worker exclaimed that he couldn't believe we had fit it all in those two rooms...it was a delicate process). That leaves the master bedroom, which we don't hang out in because Theo isn't allowed in there. So really we've been banished to the office and the hallway. That's it! It's, what, 120 sq. feet? I was ready to murder just about anyone by the end of the weekend.

Poor Theo, as I mentioned in my last post, is stressing a bit about it too. Who can blame him? Not only do his living conditions keep shifting, but they also keep getting smaller! I'm sure he feels just as cramped as we do. He's been coping through constant games of fetch. And I mean constant. All weekend he followed me around with his giant tribble, wanting me to throw it for him. If I didn't throw it, he would cry and whine and protest until I gave in and did it. I felt bad for him because I'm sure he was just bored. I tried to take him out as much as possible to keep things interesting, but it's just too cramped.

So in the end the whole weekend was pretty much spent with me sitting on the hallway floor trying to read while every 10 seconds or so I had a tribble flying into my lap ready to be thrown. Let's just say, if this keeps up much longer, that tribble is going to be the first victim of my murderous rampage.