My parents have arrived in Portland, and here’s what that means:
- Otto gets fed about twelve times a day, with whatever his little cat heart desires.
- When he isn’t eating, Otto plays with one of the dozens of toys that my mother has brought him. The highlight —some sort of fur tail that my mother claims to be rabbit. She also claims that she sow it together.
- My father firmly believes that everything at Trader Joe’s is healthy. It’s not.
- The fridge door now regularly gets opened around 3am.
- Nordstrom Rack is having an excellent month of May.
- I am getting to crash in a sleeping bag. On my futon.
- My mother is having troubles with her camera’s USB stick. Again.
- The soaps, shampoos and conditioners that I collect from hotel rooms all across America have a (very happy) new owner.
- My father is making the point that every piece of clothing I own, fits him.