Call me Stella

I have a new pet and a new roommate. The two are not unrelated.

We'll start with the roommate. She's the girlfriend of my current roommate, and last week, she was raped in her own home. For obvious reasons, she doesn't feel safe there, and my roommate asked me if she could move in here until she can figure out what to do and where to go next. I of course said yes.

We now have a cat -- Pepper. Pepper was the 17-year old cat of my roommate's grandmother. The grandmother passed away a few weeks ago, but the cat remained. At the cat's age, a shelter would as soon put the animal down as find a home for it, so of all people, my roommate's girlfriend agreed to take it.

Now the two have moved in. I have no problem with either of my new housemates. The cat is small and doesn't seem to shed much. The girlfriend has a lot of stuff and seems intent on decorating our apartment like we're in "A Streetcar Named Desire." I can't say I'm totally opposed to that, as the apartment has sort of an institutional feel to it outside the confines of my room or that of my roommate. The living room is a white-walled box with brown carpeting and a couch that matches. We could certainly use a... whatever that thing is she's got with marbles and a candle in it. Some kind of vase. Thing. I don't know.

Meanwhile, the cat has thrown up on my roommate's bed and the first night with our new roommates is off to an interesting start.

Here's to tomorrow.