Whither Scarlet O'Hairball?

You may recall, my dear Drunkards, that a while back I held a contest to name my Victorian cat doll.

Meow.

The winning name, courtesy of Karen McBoob, was Scarlet O'Hairball. And I promised to display my beautiful and newly named porcelain kitty in my apartment.

But I haven't done that.

I indeed has a sad.

It's taking me and Precocious Daughter a long time to settle in to our new digs. We're still acquiring furniture (newest acquisitions: a bookshelf and a TV stand, both still boxed and awaiting assembly). We're still discarding cardboard boxes. We're still getting used to life as two women looking for love from very different vantage points in life.

There's an ironing board behind my bedroom door because I can't figure out where it belongs, is what I'm saying. 

But here's my point. Scarlet O'Hairball needs to find a home in my home, and she hasn't yet, and I'm not happy about that.

JUST LOOK AT HER.

I need your help. I need some advice on where this beautiful little porcelain kitty in a crimson-satin-and-white-lace dress should live in my small but wonderful home.

Please vote for an option, if you will.

A: On the display shelf in the living room, where everyone can see her.

B: In your bedroom, so you can smile every morning on waking and seeing her beautiful face.

C: On top of the kitchen cabinets, which you are wanting to make a focal point but which at the moment are bare and simply attracting dust that you're afraid to climb up and confront.

D: Keep S. O'H. in her box. She is from another time in your life and doesn't need to be part of your next chapter.

Help me out, you guys. I'll do what you want. Or I'll consider it. Or something. Yeah.

Scarlet and I thank you in advance. I'll let you know how the vote goes.