My heart is hurting. I am not sure if it is from all of the hormones floating around in my body or not, but I just can't stop thinking about the poor cat next door.

About a month ago (on the Canada Day long weekend) it seemed as though there were people moving into the old house next to us (and when I say old, I mean OLD). There has been a steady string of questionable people in and out of that house over the past 3 years, but I liked the look of this couple. They appeared to have a few small children, and I thought it would be perfect to have kids next door for our little one to play with.

But after that day, I have not seen a single soul there. There are some children's toys in the back yard, a BBQ, and through the back window you can see furniture stacked up. The last people who rented this house used it only for storage (again, it is old) so we have come to think that maybe this is what the young couple is doing.

However, over the course of the past month we have been hearing a cat crying. A pitiful meowing that would last for a while and then stop. We could never really figure out where it was coming from, and quite frankly I did not think much of it. Until just this past weekend, when Blair and I were both outside and realized that the meowing was coming from the screen door at the back of the neighbors house.

So, here I am 27 years old. No longer can I consider myself in my mid-twenties. Oh no. I have made the leap into the land of late-twenties. You know what I mean- the land of sweater wearing, newspaper reading, responsible adults who actually start to think about getting older, retirement, and doing something about it. And ya know what? It feels good.

27 really feels like a turning point to me. 26 sounds young and carefree, still young enough to be out partying every weekend with 18 year olds and not necessarily have people think that you are old, washed up, and pathetic when they see you in the bar. Somehow 27 seems so different from 26- years older instead of just 12 months. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that my life is about to change so dramatically, perhaps not.

Imagine this:  you wake up feeling rested because you did not have to wake up to an alarm and stumble through your morning half asleep and rushed. The sun is shining, and after having a piece of toast and tidying the kitchen, you make your way outside to water the flowers and the grass. Back inside, you check your email, put on some proper clothes, lace up your shoes and head out for a walk in the morning sun.

This is how my day started today.

After I got home I made myself some lunch, baked a batch of brownies, prepared supper for the next day (it needed to chill overnight) and got a Sheppard’s pie put together and in the oven.  Some people might think that this sounds boring. Like a day filled with chores, forced upon me by a sexist society simply because I am a woman. But I thought it was wonderful.