There'd be days like this ...

Today was harsh.

I decided I didn't want to wait for Patrick, to go ahead and get started without him.

So I ran to Home Depot where I got some Cutter bug spray (for me), a heavy duty push broom, a bucket, some gloves, a few face mask things, and an industrial dust pan with a stand-up handle thingy.

Then I stopped at this place to get something to make for dinner.

And I got started.

I moved Smokie, the last remaining basement kitty, to the shed. That might sound mean, but wars break out when he's with the upstairs cats. I took his food, water, and cat pan up there, then transported him. He wasn't exactly thrilled, but he didn't tear me to pieces so that's good.

I opened the big garage door and then the people door and got started.

It wasn't long before I found Wallace. She had gotten into a box by the big garage door. When the door went up, the box shifted. Luckily for me, she was positioned so that the only thing I saw was some fur. It took lots of deep breaths and more than 20 minutes for me to finagle her into a bag without ever actually seeing or handling her.

Because ... well ... I couldn't have handled that. I'm thinking she went there to die, the way cats will run off and hide when it's time, because she wasn't crammed into the space. She was just ... there. And it's kind of surprising. While Mackie always seemed to be on the edge of getting sick, Wallace wasn't. She was a strange cat, but she wasn't a sickly one.

After dealing with that, I tucked in and got back to work.

And let me tell you ... it was some work.

We still had several boxes that we'd never unpacked, full of odds and ends and random bits of clothes. I realize that sounds like not much, but really ... it was.

With a small few exceptions (my china cups and a few pictures), I dumped it all. I emptied every single box into a bag then broke down the boxes. I swept. I moved the couches. I moved the weight bench (ok, barely ... but still). I swept and swept some more. And good grief I sweated. Gah it was hot, even with practically the whole thing open.

I did take a few breaks. I drank tea like someone was paying me and I sat under a shade tree in the back yard a few times.

Marc eventually came over and helped me carry a few bags to the curb (our garbage men are going to hate us tomorrow) and helped break down a few of the boxes. He tried to get me to keep some things, but my reply was always "If you want it, take it. If not, toss it".

It looks sooooo much better down there. The two couches are the last things to go and it'll be practically in the same shape it was when we moved in.

If another animal decides to pass along while in the basement, they'll have no choice but to do it out in the open.

Smokie's back in place, although he's a bit off kilter. He walked around meowing. I hate to think he's going to eventually realize he's alone. That thought makes me want to cry some more. But ... my mom will take him back in a few weeks (God willing, it's her cat) and he'll be much happier.

So ... Two cats are gone (gah) ... basement's clean ... and I'm exhausted.