'Bout ready to blow a gasket.

Our home's doors don't close, and I'm about ready to lose my mind.

It's because they were installed funkily, which also explains why you can see the 1/4+ inch crack the un-plumb doors have which lets in a super-fun amount of cold air in the wintertime.

So you REALLY HAVE TO PULL THEM SHUT and/or lock them. Otherwise, they come open, whether by wind, or on their own, or by the aid of certain prying cat paws.

It's incredibly, incredibly annoying. And, in the case of this morning, panic-inducing.

I was in the other room, B had just left for work. When I came back in, the front door was open. "Oh crud, I thought, a cat got out." Yup. That was true.

But. Then. The house was too quiet. There was Maddie... OMG, WHERE'S BAILEY!? WHERE'S OUR 15-WEEK OLD, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY PUPPY!!???

Pure panic. Pure panic that drove yoga pants, stained-shirt, and fuzzy bathrobed me out into the front yard, screaming Bailey's name. I decided to quickly run inside, just to make sure the galloping goof of a dog wasn't sleeping quietly in the closet. And then I saw him. Sitting on the back deck's steps. Waiting for me.

That dog got hugged big time.

You'd think remembering to pull the doors tight would be easy, but it's an issue of difficult proportions because you don't know if you've closed them all the way. Usually, there's a click or something. Not these doors. If it were our home, we'd examine the locking mechanism, possibly change around where the door jam hits and where the handle mechanism hits. We'd probably install an auto-close bar too, making it a bit more difficult and probably too much pressure for the dingbat cats to open the doors.

But we rent. We're loathing this rental just a tad right now. The doors are just one of many things.