The saga ends. Barring alien invasion, syphillis or acts of God, I shall not be homeless when my lease expires at the end of the month. Rather, I shall be moving next week to a rather spiffing tri-level, modern-architect-ed, super-spacious 21st Century bachelor pad in north Oakland, with a remote control gate and a funky little sun-balcony and three toilets and
everything. According to the lease, there is the option to have one indoor cat, which I would consider simply so that I could swing it around airily in the upstairs closet.
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