Sisterhood of the Traveling Cats

Moving historically provides little entertainment value as we carefully pack our most cherished belongings, lovingly wrapping that strange looking monkey sculpture Aunt Ida (or other eclectic aunt) gave you, hoping beyond hope that it might “accidentally” be shattered in some bizarre, fell-off-the-back-of-the-truck, type of accident. Some of us take the time to carefully label each box with not only contents, but which room it’s to be delivered to. Then there is the pride one feels at having had the forethought to tape a piece of paper to the door of each room identifying which room is which for your would-be helpers so as to minimize the growling, grumbling, and general grumpiness that will, sooner rather than later, be directed at you for having duped them into helping you move, yet again. Apparently there is no amount of pizza and beer that can adequately repay your friends who have begrudgingly given up a weekend to toil like slaves. One can only hope that all who volunteer can keep their wits about them, employ a sense of humor, and at least find some measure of satisfaction in knowing that you have weeks of work ahead of you not only in unpacking and decorating, but in acclimating your family’s animals to their new home.

I recall the first time we moved after having adopted our now 12 year old cats; they rode unfettered in the front seat of the U-haul with my husband. One hid under his seat, howling for the entire 45 minute ride. The other spent the trip wrapped snugly around his neck, not unlike a snake, claws dug into his shoulders, making a low, guttural, growling noise pretty much the entire way. Hubby was less than amused. Last summer when we moved, we made multiple trips throughout a week, doing what we could to lessen the “major moving” over the weekend. During one of our last trips, we decided it was time to bring the animals over. My daughter drew the short straw. When she arrived in her Jeep, she and her brother hauled our extremely displeased cats into the house where they immediately hunkered down, did a slow belly crawl, and made growling noises again, all while familiarizing themselves with the new digs. My daughter said that as usual Tazzy hid under the front seat and howled, but Sam spent the trip in a near fetal position on the floor board of her Jeep, with her mouth wide open as far as it would physically go, seemingly in abject horror. There were no noises coming from that mouth, just wide open, silent scream, kitty-panic. Monyka felt terrible, but said it was the funniest albeit creepiest thing she’d ever seen. Eventually the cats may forgive the affront of having been tortured by yet another car ride. Or they may not; I still half expect them to attempt a complete hostile takeover one night while we sleep.

Witty quip of the day: Dogs have owners, cats have “staff”. Cats are as likely to curl in your lap and purr with contentment as they are to quietly, over a period of years, plan your demise.