Dude, where's my kitchen?

A few weeks ago, Mike and Jeannie started packing our kitchen stuff--pots, pans, dishes, and even food--into big boxes and moving them to other rooms in the house, especially the bedroom:

A lot of other things went unpacked, but were moved into the dining room, so that it began to look like a little bitty kitchen, itself:

M kept feeding me in our regular kitchen, right on schedule, so I didn't think too much about these strange events.

But then last week M and J stopped letting me go into the kitchen. Instead, a bunch of men I'd never seen were going in and out with tools and creating all kinds of horrific noise and clouds of dust, and suddenly I was having to eat my meals in the bathroom.

A few days ago things seemed to settle down again. The men disappeared, and I was allowed back into the kitchen to take a look. I couldn't believe my eyes:

 "Oh no you dih-unt!" I said. "Where'd the kitchen go? Where are the cabinets? Where's the ceiling?"

"It's all being replaced," M replied. "It'll look great in a few days. Just wait and see."

Today the ceiling is back--somewhat higher than it used to be--and the walls have a fresh coat of paint. M says we're getting all new cabinets, a new window, a new stove, and double outward-opening doors on the pantry.

"What about the fridge?" I pressed him. Right now it's in the dining room, where it takes up almost the whole place. The dishwasher is out in the garage.

He assured me that everything will soon be back where it belongs, though rearranged a bit.

I'll let you know . . .

Updated Monday, May 30, 2016

Okay--I guess I can live with this: