Stalemate and cohabitate

I am in the process of trying to buy a house. I can think of nothing that is quite as frustrating and humbling than putting your life on paper.

I thought I had saved a lot. I guess that's a relative term when you start factoring all the other hidden costs in the process of home ownership. There's inspections and closing costs and no matter what you have in the bank, it's not enough.

So I found my budget (tiny) and what I wanted in a house and away I went. I found one! But now I'm in a tug of war with the bank over a foreclosed house that I love for the low end of my budget but I think I might lose this one. I guess another hurdle in the process is that the home needs to be in 100% working order for the loan I qualify for.
I'm starting to think that home does not exists.

Still at little apartment but staying at my sisters all the time with this nagging feeling that my life is stalled.

I've also been thinking perhaps this -do what you love- mantra for choosing careers isn't such a great idea. If you like cooking, does that mean you should pursue a career working in the back of a kitchen, 60 hours a week, every night and weekend with no paid time off and an angry owner barking at you all the time? If you like making jewelry, who can tell if you will actually make your money back as you follow your dreams? Does anyone actually make money doing what they "love?"

I wonder what makes people chose what they do or if they just fall into it. I understand the inheriting a business, but everything else doesn't make any sense to me.

Maybe I'm just frustrated at being broke and sad I can't find something that I'm good at that will pay me well. And I can't find a house I can afford that I like.

And my poor kitty's back legs went paralyzed. I blame the scratching of the fleas. But really she was getting old. I didn't know how attached I was to her until I had to make the decision to take her to the vet. After a bit of googling, I knew the prognosis was not good, but I also wanted a professional opinion on what I thought was inevitable. A couple offers to take her out back just solidified my decision. I don't think getting shot is a nice way to go after she had given me a long life of service in the form of actually coming when called, making me smile, and warming my lap. She was entertaining and quirky, the way I like cats that are just there without being in your face but perfect for sick days when she was happy to share the couch with you.
Animals getting old is a somber reminder of mortality. Our companions lives are so short compared to ours but usually the perfect amount of time to add a punctuation in the timeline of our longer lives. Like -remember when we lived in that city at that place in our 20s with that crazy cat who had bow legs that made her look like a bulldog? Or the family dog that helped you through middle school but didn't make it to see you graduate high school. But every time it comes to an end, it's heartbreaking.
I guess for however gut wrenching putting a purring kitty on the vet table is, it makes me reassess why I keep things that in the end will die. Chickens are getting a lot easier. Their faces are turning into blurs and while some of them have very standout personalities, the life span of only a couple of years just leaves a slight bitter taste in my mouth when they come up dead. It's the few animals that curl on the couch with me that I expect nothing else but companionship out of that really wiggle into my heart and wring it dry.

This time of year they don't sell trees in Ohio, except the live Christmas variety. But my little kitty deserved more than just a hole in the ground with dirt on top. Even if I didn't pick her out, she just kinda wandered into my house and setup camp on my couch like she owned the place. All I could do was admire her assertiveness and shrug with the bewilderment of -I guess I have a cat now.
I think with all cats, you don't really "own" them. You cohabit. They tolerate your oddities and you tolerate their constant hairballs, box they shit in inside your house, and the occasional dead thing on the front doorstep like you really wanted to see the chipmunk/mouse/bird they just killed.

So there's a nice alcove filled with tulip and daffodil bulbs and some irises as well. Daffodils are tenacious as she was and will remind me for years of that bulldog kitty that helped ease the transition from job to job to crappy apartment from my 20s to my early 30s. And no, I don't want a cat to replace that cat. I don't look for cats. They just kinda find me. And I love them back.