¡Hola chic@s!

I’m back in Madrid, and trying to get myself well and truly settled in to the new place. There are some longer posts languishing on my list of “things to write,” but in the meantime, here are a few vignettes that should give you an idea of what the last week has been like:

You can move a 13 year-old cat six time zones away, but she will become a vampire for a while, demanding to be fed at all hours of the night, while sleeping all day under the duvet.

Rooms without furniture are apparently scary to cats. Why is this? Closets, on the other hand, are irresistible.

When you come home from 2+ weeks away to find that the fridge has died, what instinct is it that makes you wonder if you might still be able to eat the pesto in there? (Don’t worry, I didn’t.)

When you don’t have a fridge, you get to eat breakfast out. In my case, at the Café Comercial around the corner. I hadn’t been to the ATM yet, was still mightily jet-lagged, and really needed a café con leche. I ordered a breakfast at the bar that cost 3,75 and then discovered that there was just 3,40 in my change purse. OK, I reasoned, I’ll pay with my debit card. Except the machine was broken. So the lovely, fast-moving, and surprisingly unfrazzled woman behind the counter told me — a person she’d never seen before — that I could pay her the next day. Which I did. When someone restores your faith in human nature, you have to give as good as you get.

A vigorously teething baby in the next apartment will cause any wall to appear to be made of kleenex.

There may be fewer sources of satisfaction greater than assembling an IKEA sofa, decorating it with a pillow you made yourself, and then taking it for a test-nap.