I'm sorry House.

I'm sorry house. I sorry to leave you in the care of a man with such bad taste in wine (as a general rule, if you've seen a commercial for it on TV, don't buy it!). I'm sorry that as I was pulling away for the last time he was cutting down your best bushes, the ones that made you 'shadowy and suggestive' as L.M. Montgomery would say. I'm sorry that you've been stripped of your three feline watchman, Maximus the proud tyrant, Aeromus the stealthy, and Highjinks who looked as he had been snipped from the inky night sky. (Aeromus and Highjinks have been transported to Ocean Beach with Martin and Camila, and are terrorizing seagulls as we speak, I'm sure.) I'm sorry that he ever even used the word 'wainscoting' in reference to remodel of your sleek, minimalist living room. I'm sorry in advance for the fact that I know he is going to paint you some horrific color. I'm sorry that he's going to remove the beautiful painted parrot statues by the kitchen door. I'm sorry that I can't buy you myself (he gets unsolicited offers on the place all the time, the last one was over a million dollars (as all the non-locals gasp, and all the locals think 'yeah, that's about right')). I'm sorry house. I'll miss you.