Everything In Place

My household standard of A Place For Everything, And Everything In Its Place has served me well for three-quarters of a century.  I have always kept a tidy house and I have been very comfortable in the order that I established.  Until now I have always been able keep house well.

Amusingly, my formerly feral house cat, my pale orange muscly boy Achilles, now lets me know when something is out of place in my tiny senior apartment.  For example, in the past several days he has stood several times, looking with a particular attitude, at the two laundry baskets that I have lined up by the door to go out and around the corner to the laundry room, a heavy, painful task that drains me so I have avoided it.  I have invited the cat to go and do the laundry himself but he does not do it.  Ha, ha, ha, right now he is outside playing in some brisk fall wind gusts, the remnants of a Nor'easter that blew through New England in the past several days.  Wonderfully, here in Maine we seem to just get the remnants of weather.  Today I brought my seasonal door yard plant, with its pretty little, deep green leaves, inside because the chill last night caused it to wither a little.  This deep red trumpet flowering plant will not get enough sunlight inside but I cannot bear to discard it while it lives.

A Place For Everything, And Everything In Its Place

by Annmarie Throckmorton, copyright 2026