We are having a day at Dad's place today. I find it incredibly odd that "Dad's place" used to be the place that I called home, but now it's just "Dad's place". "Home" leaves a bad taste in my mouth. We are going through the house and going through her things, the remnants of my things from North Carolina.

I am hoping that the day won't be too difficult. Dad is renting a dumpster, and me and Charlie, Brenda, and even Nick later on, are going to go about the business of evicting ghosts. It's eerie going in there, her night stand still full of her things, her makeup case and lotions still lined up in neat little rows beneath...her purse sitting in plain sight, as though it is ready to be picked up again at any moment by its owner.

I bought a can of Friskies for Friskey to enjoy while we're there. My poor baby is old, and I don't think she'll be with us much longer. I can tell she's arthritic and miserable. She's lost weight and Dad tells me she's been having problems hitting the litter box. What's worse, one day this week, he woke to find her trying to move around, but it seemed that her back legs weren't working at all. Eventually they kicked in again, but it just doesn't seem right.

To be fair, I didn't expect her to last very long after Mom died...

But it's sad...my friend who grew up with me and old without me. "I am hoping that the day won't be too difficult." Yeah right.