Cats and changes go together like roast beef and cotton candy. Like peas and M and Ms. Like Skittles in soup.
Greetings my little toe stretchers. As you might be aware, we’ve moved quite a bit in recent years. Not one move was related to my displeasure over our current domicile. I may have my people wrapped around my little paw, but I’m also the cat. And the cat just goes along with major decisions. Was I consulted when the robot vacuum, Bumpy, was brought in? I was not. It’s the same way with moves. The cat watches as her people pack her stuff. Then she ends up wherever they take her.
Friends, I’ve been writing about moving for three years now. In late 2018, we took kit (me) and kaboodle (everything else) from London to Wallaceburg. A mere 8 months later, we were back in London in a short-term rental apartment. Several weeks after that, we settled at The Ranch in the wilds of Southwold. Three months ago, we became Port Stanlians.
However, I must give credit where it’s due. My human beans have kept me informed of our pending journeys every step of the way. Father, especially, appreciates my intelligence and likes to share every detail with me so I know what to expect. Mother voluntarily cleans my litter box, so draw your own conclusions about her.
Personally, I’m not as finicky about food as you’ll find other felines to be. However, last weekend I launched the world’s shortest hunger strike to protest the absence of my human beans. They had a good reason for being away, mind you: the occasion of a second tribute/memorial to my late Uncle Dave.
Still, it’s all about me. And how much is a cat supposed to take? Arrangements were made for companionship and feeding. Next door dog Gracie’s humans popped in to visit me, and they were kind and gentle. They talked to me in soothing tones. But I had lost my appetite. No amount of shredded chicken or turkey with gravy and cheese would entice me to eat. I laid on the so-called “cat hair barrier” on the guest bed and pouted. Cat hair barrier? I mean, really! How insulting.
However, Gracie’s Mom decided, in a motherly way, “not on my watch”! If I wouldn’t go to the food, the food would come to me!
I appreciated the effort. Intermittent fasting may be all the rage with human beans but I’m not a fan. It felt good to eat! But I believe I’d made my point.
If you’ve ever tried to alter the location of a litter box you’ll know that we detest change. We want the same old same old. We like predictability. So please think carefully about the box’s location before you place it. Because if you want to relocate it you need to – and I mean this – adjust its position by no more than a few inches per day. That is, unless you want fresh deposits on your floor. This is how much we hate change! We’ll walk past the box’s new location to pee where it used to be! I can’t explain it except to say, it’s our nature. And it’s another reason why we’re so darn adorable. So you give us a pass when we mess up your flooring.
As darkness fell on another day, I felt my spirits sink. I missed my humans and the routine we’d barely begun to build here. Routine calms me and makes me feel safe. This disruption was eroding my normally resilient outlook. Just when I’d given up hope, the front door rattled and in came my beans! Joy! Elation! Meowing at a decibel level normally associated with backhoes!
They brought with them cousin Vicki from England for whom the cat barrier was put in place. Father says I must learn to share while Vicki occupies my upstairs napping spot. Share? What is this share?!! I don’t understand that word at all. But I’ll do my best to compromise. A closed door certainly makes it easier.
There will probably be more unpredictable days. But this was the first one since our move and it left me unsettled. Now I remember: they always come home. And maybe Mother is right and Gracie the dog next door really is a sweetie. Her humans are awfully kind. Still, I have no wish to meet Gracie face to face. I’ll admire her from afar. And cozy up to my own beans as much as I can stand.
Wishing you happy naps and deep sleeps,