Home is where the cats are

I moved into the Shithole at the end of 2002. At that time, it marked the end of a three year relationship with C and he was moving to Australia with the dogs. I was left in a lurch because I had nowhere to live. When the Best Friend reminded me that my uncle had a vacant apartment, decisions were made fast and furious. I packed, made the ex move my stuff up to my new apartment, said a tearful farewell to the dogs, and started a "new chapter in life".

I started seeing YL shortly after and the Best Friend, her then boyfriend now husband, YL and I lived in the Shithole. We'd go out for dinners and movies, have parties, cook and laze around chatting. It was like alibaba Friends without the Jennifer Aniston hairdo. When things went awry with YL, he moved out, leaving me alone in the Shithole with two cats and a guinea pig. I got my third kitty a couple of years later and Tiggy completed my little animal family.

After seven years in the Shithole, it is time to move on and find a place to call home. Cue rogue property agents and more Shitholes. The first place I viewed was a nondescript apartment with ugly early 90s fixtures where gold seemed to be the only way to go. Door knobs, cabinet knobs, lights and frames were all in gold. It looked like a knockoff Playboy mansion. The second apartment was even worse. The owners decided that sea green walls would be groovy. The apartment looked like it was attacked by the Algae Monster. It was completely green, dark and frightening.

I fell in love with No. 3. It has square rooms and floor to ceiling windows so the meows can look out. The view of Bt Timah Hill was the icing on the cake. However, the price of the apartment was a joke and the property agent was a nasty cow. When I stated my price, she gave me a mocking laugh and told me it was out of the question. I wanted to push her out of the floor to ceiling window.

Apartment 4 had a tenant and her rabbit. I almost stepped on the rabbit when I went into the kitchen. Instead of inspecting the false ceiling and looking for cracks in the walls, the Best Friend and I proceeded to play with the rabbit.

Tenant (yelling): There's a rabbit in the kitchen!
Property Agent (yelling back): I think they are very xing fen (happy) to see the rabbit!
Daily Toe: Does the rabbit come with the apartment? If so, I'll take it!
Property Agent ignores the Daily Toe.

Rabbit aside, the apartment didn't scream "Buy me!". The rabbit was the best thing about it. I didn't fancy the centrepiece light which was made up of four glass birds in flight.

I am still looking for the perfect shithole that will make the cats happy.