The Cat's In The Cradle and The Silver Spoon

I am not sure why I am panicking so. I have done a renovation before.

But that was when I was married and had someone to share the responsibility with. Not that Lars was a great partner for such an undertaking, (we did get into quite a tiff about carpet color...) but at least I was not the sole responsible party. 

And that was the attic renovation. It inconvenienced no one. The attic was raw, unfinished space that was being redefined as living space. It also took place in the weeks that preceded my father's death and I had beau coup other distractions. Seriously, if the renovation had been a complete disaster I would have barely noticed. I remember the carpet guy coming to the door the day after my father passed, and Lars meeting him in the foyer to tell him to direct all questions to him. That I was not to be bothered, annoyed, pressured, or disturbed in any way. 

And as a side note, thank God that renovation took place when it did. Six months later I found myself in the middle of a divorce from the Anti-Christ and living up there in the penthouse suite alone.  It could have been far worse.

And the kids are with Lars. They will not be inconvenienced at all. They will come home Friday to a brand spanking new kitchen designed by their mother. Woo hoo!

But I am a little worried about the cat.

If Wally and his men are going to be traipsing in and out with equipment and prop the door, Trinket is going to s-p-l-i-t.  I am going to have to confine her in the penthouse like a divorcee.

I get a temporary kitty litter box (a travel toily) and place it on the landing of the attic steps.

I put my yard work weary arms to the test and install the window air conditioner in the large window in the attic (and while it is open, Trinket nearly jumps out, so strong is her desire to roam the wilds of suburbia). I set it to go on when the temp gets to 80.  perfect purring cat temperature.

I move her food bowls, water dish and placemat onto the counter where she'll find them. I put the can opener, a fork and tin of tuna in the little refrigerator that use to be stocked with wine during the divorce. She will enjoy her usual breakfast. I take the two highball glasses of water that Trinket usually finds in the bathroom and move them to a convenient spot in the attic. I fill a pitcher with fresh water to replenish the glasses and bowls daily.  I take her toys, all of them, and her scratching pad to the third floor as well. I tune the radio to our station. I open each storage area just enough for her to go in and explore in case she's bored.

I think I have lost my mind.