Not Boxed In to My Chagrin

Sugar leaning on a soft-sided laptop case

This week finds me quite disappointed, my little treat chompers, As Packarama 2021 continues, not one box has been left out for my amusement. Every box is built, filled, labelled and set aside. What’s a curious cat to do?

The comings and goings around here are unprecedented. I don’t mean people, I mean things. Boxes and papers and packing foam and tape dispensers. You might think I’ve seen it all before but it’s different every time.

The strangest part is that nothing is for certain. Oh, we know where we’re moving to, but we haven’t yet been given the all-clear that everything will happen according to schedule. You see, we think they’ve finished building our new home but no one has said that for sure. And we understand. Many homes are going up at the same time, with staggered closing dates. So Mother and Father traversed the 18 minute (but who’s counting?) drive to Port Stanley on the long weekend to peer into the windows. They were able to ascertain that lighting has been installed but they couldn’t see whether the appliances are in.

They long to tread on the floors and run their fingers down the lengths of bathroom tiles. Such experiences will simply have to wait.

They met our new neighbours to the east and pronounced them a friendly and delightful couple. They gave Mother a tour of their lovely place. However, they have welcomed into their family a giant, filthy dog. I hope to never meet this gangly lout that, without warning, licked mother’s face from her chin to her hairline! Mother told me the story with delight in her voice but I can tell when she’s faking. My people cannot remember the creature’s name or I’d scratch out a sternly worded letter to explain my expectations of his behavior using small words so he would understand. They also can’t remember the names of the nice people. For now, they’re known as “the couple in #57”.

Sugar looking over her shoulder at the camera from her napping position on a cream-coloured chair against a pillow that has Be Happy on it in gold lettering.

Meanwhile, we continue to enjoy the spoils of country living. Farmers have been using their giant machines all last weekend to stir up the soil around us. That means dust, and lots of it. Mother sneezes. I sneeze. She removes dust from the coffee table and the next day, writes her name in the new settlement. It amuses her now that we’re leaving!

And speaking of the weekend, this feline truly wishes humans could agree on when to set off fireworks. Or to not set them off at all! Yes, yes, I am aware of your professed love for Queen Victoria, whom you honour with beer and charred meat. But I have to agree with our friends at Salthaven Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Centre – fireworks suck for animals. ALL animals. Not just filthy dogs that cower in bathtubs and under beds!

Birds will get disoriented & fly into buildings. Deer will run out into the road. Consider using sparklers/glow sticks, or put on a light/laser show.

Mother and Father are much less annoyed by fireworks now that they’re not beholden to 3 am alarms. And I know that anytime I’m scared, scooching into the bed with my humans always calms my nerves. Throwing up a hairball also seems to help me, although that’s no longer my go-to response.

I’m maturing, my bell tinklers!

And now I must return to one of my many happy places. Mr. Sunbeam might return today and I plan to chase him around the house, in the same way a bulldozer chases a mound of dirt. Slow and steady wins the race!

Until next week, I remain your friend,

Miss Sugar

1 thought on “Not Boxed In to My Chagrin”

  1. Excellent writing Miss Sugar! Thanks for keeping us updated on those humans of yours! I agree time to ban fireworks or restrict them to one night only.
    Take care!

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