Apartment hunting is getting to me.

I have called at least, at least 200 places in the last 6 weeks. Ok, in fairness, we have only been looking for the last week for *real* but at least that many messages have been left.

We put in an application for the perfect apartment. And didn’t get it.

Last night, we put in an application for another apartment. Roomy 3 bedroom. Owner occupied, she called us the weekend after we first looked at the place (end of May, too early for us) and said she wanted us to get the first shot…and then we didn’t hear back from her. Turns out she rented it for 10 days. And now it is free again. Serendipity?

Of course, she is not as fond as we originally thought she was of the word CATS. Plural, as in more than one, cat. (My friend Katie at work said we should just say we have 2 cats instead of 4 because no one would know the difference between Simba cat and Sasha Kitten and between Mark’s Ling and Kessa. Tee hee!)

I fell in love with a man who has 2 cats. I have 2 cats. 2 cats, no one thinks twice about. Ok, not entirely true, I have looked at about 150 ads that say NO PETS. Whatever. But 2+2 cats. Meow. And we know this, which is why most of the lovely places we have looked at? Are unsuitable.