Our plummenting cupboard is currently residing in the hall between the kitchen and the living room and door to our apartment, guaranteeing that's it's the first thing you'll see when you walk into our home. Classy, yes, but there's nowhere else to put the damn thing. It's pretty clapped out, and its one remaining door refuses to close and is, therefore, permanently ajar. This adds to the effect, as does the other door, shelf and paper sack of remaining bits propped up against the opposite wall a bit further along. I rolled up the beautiful carpet that usually resides there, and it's lying on the hall floor, too, right in front of the coat closet. The far kitchen counter (ie. the only one you can see from the hall) is filled with bottles of various condiments, boxes and canned goods, completely obliterating the pretty and colorful display of pottery behind it.

If only I could get a car up on blocks to stick outside our front door, we'd be in business.

Then again, after the indignities inflicted upon our apartment in Milan, I ought to be used to this sort of thing.

Somebody's coming to take a look at it on Monday. Unfortunately, I am afraid it's the all purpose guy who's a friend of the building's caretaker, the same guy who came to fix our dishwasher the first time. As it turned out, there was something wrong with the dang thing, and it's since been fixed, but he doesn't know that, does he? Ah well, he probably doesn't remember, anyway.

And so what if he does, really. What I do know is that that cupboard is not going to reattach its door and jump back on the wall whilst I'm not looking. This time, there will be something that obviously needs fixing.

Calliope managed to catch herself a real live lizard the other night.

I was in the bathroom at the time, getting ready for bed, but Elvis heard the commotion and rescued the poor little critter. The lizard in question had already lost its tail-- some time ago, by the look of it-- so it wasn't able to escape using the old 'drop your tail and run' trick.

It definitely wasn't the same lizard that she was chasing a while back. It wasn't big enough, for one thing, and it was a different color. Elvis brought the poor little fella in to show me, and it was obviously distressed. In fact, it looked like it was crying and somewhat hysterical. I certainly would be, if I had just been tormented by a giant cat and then rescued by some sort of animal with great big feet that probably hunts by smooshing things.

I have no idea what Calliope thought of Elvis muscling in on her lizard, but I will note that she spent the rest of the night in the living room instead of her usual spot on our bed. Sulking, presumably.

Elvis let him go out on the balcony. We have no idea if he will survive his ordeal: I assume he was injured, especially since he's such a little guy and fragile looking. I checked the balcony the next day, and didn't find a lizard corpse, so hopefully he's alive and well and snacking on some tasty insects.