Our Moving Experience: Miss Sugar Writes

A long view of Sugar on the rug looking out the back patio door, waiting patiently for birds

Greetings my little kibble crunchers! It feels like Deja vu all over again. Same stuff. Different boxes.

It’s moving day! The most exciting part of a move, for me, is the initial sniffing exploration. But I overheard Mother delightedly tell Father that our new place has no scents! (They got the keys yesterday.) Apparently, it’s been scrubbed to within a whisker of its life. Mother seems quite pleased. My nose is less enthusiastic. There’s only so much Mr. Clean one can take.

However, I do understand that Mother is still traumatized by their last move-in adventure. Oh, the smells! The farmhouse was left steeping in whatever was cooked, stored, and tracked in on boots. It was heavenly for me and my curious nose.

My pet-parents have told me how this day will go. Some big, burly men will arrive with a long truck. They’ll take away all of my nap furniture and the crazy boxes. And we’ll reunite at the day’s end in the new place. Hey, it’s not my first rodeo.

My new littlerbox station will be downstairs and feeding station in the kitchen. Same as it ever was. As usual, no one will pay attention to my personal feng shui. A well-placed hairball ought to get my point across.

My priorities are these: 1. Make it past Gracie, the new neighbour’s filthy dog, without losing any fur and making it clear to her that we will not be friends.

2. Find the best bird-watching window. But I suspect the shit-bird population is lower here. Only empirical evidence will tell me for sure. There’s less corn and fewer deer, that much I know.

3. Determine the prime napping stations and claim them.

Miss Sugar stretches toward the camera on a sheet of bubble wrap.
Bubble wrap makes the best napping mat.

I couldn’t imagine that my life would have so many twists and turns since that day Mother adopted me, an orphaned, ailing 10-year-old, at the London Humane Society. It’s been almost six years and – oh – the things I’ve seen! I’ve been a Londoner (Byronite, actually), a Wallaceburger, a Southwoldian country cat and now a Port Stanley beach babe. Somehow I doubt I’ll get to visit the beach in person. Once a cat starts to dig in sand, well, feline nature follows its path and nearby sunbathers tend to get upset!

What new adventures await this lucky little cat? I’m filled with anticipation. So much so, that I think I’ll take a long nap. I hope Mr. Sunbeam can find me. I’m rather fond of him.

Thank you for following my adventures, my little tail twitchers. Until next time, I remain your friend,

Miss Sugar

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