So there was a weird noise coming from out back this morning and it freaked me out.

And I finally puzzled together what it was: someone was going through the abandoned apartment across the alley and throwing out a bunch of furniture. Like, literally throwing it hand-over-fist onto a heap on the law.

Well, the basement of that apartment is one of the cats' major neighborhood hidey-holes.

And we don't even know that they're doing anything more with that apartment *or* that the basement will be affected at all.

But within 15 minutes my brain had gotten all the way from that to "oh my god Ceejay's going to get boarded up or they're going to see there's a bunch of cats living there and try to trap or poison them."

I convinced myself that this is not only more than a little hasty, it's not even logical. It's not even legal to randomly move or poison feral cats in New Orleans. And our moochlets probably have another six dozen hiding spots around the block that we don't even know about.

Plus, this could actually work out for the best, 'cause I know that place is pretty moldy and Peebles already has asthma issues... And if they're remodeling, we might get a another neighbor who likes the cats and might help feed them if we ever have to move.

So yeah, I'm just borrowing trouble. But I borrowed so much of it, so fast! And now I'm just lingering in that place where some part of your brain remembers you were supposed to be anxious about something, but not why.

I'm sure the cats are going to be fine one way or another. They made it through a Cat 4 hurricane, for fuck's sake. That did help me worry less about 'em.

I guess it just feels weird and intrusive, knowing that someone can just randomly come in and alter our little buddies' lives radically and there's not much we could really do about it. (Gods know they would NOT take well to collars and tags, for instance...)