It's 5:15 a.m. I've been up for 2 hours. I had the same problem last night, and the night before. Fred and Bilbo are sleeping soundly. They've had no problem adjusting to the time change (and they're hogging the bed). I'm not sure if it's a long case of jet lag or nerves. I think it may have to do with a CNN news clip I watched on bed bugs. I've been skeptical of the bed in our sublet ever since.
The apartment is cute enough. Not exactly what we expected, but it will do. I knew apartments in Paris were small. I guess I wasn't prepared to have to enter the bathroom via the kitchen. A major dilemma was where to put Bilbo's food dish. The floor space is that limited. Fortunately, there is a basement or "cave". The latter describes it more accurately. Our landlord told us that there was some storage space down there for our empty luggage.
Fred inserted the skeleton key into the lock. We crept down the stone staircase into the moist air. It was straight out of The Pirates of the Carribean (or World War II, as Fred suggested). We forgot to read the directions as to which unit was ours, so we had to try several locks. We gave up after we came upon a door slicked with mold and draped in cob webs.
I freaked and scurried up the stairs, leaving Fred behind. I wanted to make sure one of us was out in case the ceiling collapsed. I yelled down that I would promise to send help and never remarry.
Tomorrow, we'll pack a Survival Kit and try again.