The crypt is dead, long live the crypt!

Those of you lucky enough to enter our formerly humble abode sometime over the last 2 years will have heard us grumbling under our breath about our flat on The Avenue (generally referred to as the crypt, including once to our real estate agent).
I'm not sure why, but way back in 2005 we weren't tipped off by the
complete lack of natural light or the smoker's courtyard.

Since this is the only house that Jonah has ever lived in we've been worried that he might be feeling a little anxious.

As gung-ho, never leave a stone unturned type parental units, Katia and I felt that a proactive approach would be best. We've been talking to him about getting on the plane [jonahspeak: byeeee] and going away with only Imma and Abba.

In the end, we decided against covering his paws in butter...he may be a kitten but I don't think he'd ever forgive or forget.

We also figured that it was important for Jonah to be a productive member of the moving crew, so he helped us to pack, measure, tie-up and carry our other-worldy possessions. Jonah and I have also been helping various people out in their gardens; he is a little earthmover and loves to compare little cuts afterwards.
Jonah may be a little clingy from the permament state of sleep-over, but no more than Katia or I. He's been the very definition of Louche: insisting on extra servings of crackers, stories and hugs from everyone. His Louche-ious ways have even scored him a second mama (Kimba) and a very friendly lady friend next-door (Enya).

In any case, the crypt is dead, long live the crypt! We've packed up and moved sideways to Chez Grimba and the crash course in Loucheology has commenced.