Moving Day

I had a huge apartment, far too big for me and 3 cats. One of the rooms was only used when one of the cats had the urge to knock something over. I bought tons of furniture, just so the place didn't look so empty. We seriously rattled in that joint. Not to mention the 18 very steep steps to the joint, and the fact that it was a block away from my parents' house... it was time to move.

As the only places for rent in a small town are either overpriced or very bad places to live, I needed a good home. Enter Mom and Dad, who do NOT want me and my 3 cats moving in with them, their 2 dogs, and 2 cats. Mom's idea was to buy a small house and rent it to me. She doesn't actually mention this to me or anything. One morning she called me on her cell phone, and said she was downstairs, and to come get in the car.

We drove past a house that looked about right for a 2-car garage, which came complete with its own baby-sized shed (painted in matching colors, of course). We wandered around the grounds for a few minutes, while Mom discussed the idea of buying the place for me. I, of course, was thrilled to death.

We called the realtor and set up an appointment. A few days later, and we were inside the house. The living room is about 10 ftx4 ft., the kitchen about 10 ft. square, and the bedroom actually of a decent size. In the bedroom is a bathroom and a closet for the (stackable) washer and dryer. The kitchen has tons of counterspace, a relatively new fridge and oven, and enough room for a small table and a litterbox. The outer living room wall is almost covered with a built-in entertainment center. My first thought was that it was the cutest little doll house I had ever seen.

A month later, and it was mine (or more accurately, my parents'), and it was time to move. Being a computer addict, I had an entire 3 boxes (somewhat) packed by moving day. As I am very overweight, there was no way I was going to be able to do the physical moving, and Dad called my uncle with the truck and 2 strong boys. While they took out the furniture, Mom, my aunt, and I packed up the apartment. I and the cats went over with the last load of junk.

Did I mention that the apartment was HUGE, and the house TINY? When we got to the new house, all of the furniture was piled in the livingroom in a large clump. There was no hope whatsoever of untangling the mess that night, as it was well past 10 pm. Also, the house was ice-cold. It was December (of last year), and the gas man had turned on the gas, but had neglected to unlock the meter. A quick phone call elicited a promise to be over that evening.

While I was waiting for the gas man to show, I started the tremendous job of figuring out where to put my junk. Not unpacking it, mind you, just deciding where it was going to go. When the house is this small, and the amount of furniture that large, this in itself is a monumentous task.

A knock at the door! The gas man is here. I opened the door, and this very skinny, elderly man pushed his way in, looking quite frightened. He took a deep breath, and said, "Whoareyouandwhyshouldn'tIcallthepolice?"

At that particular moment, I was thinking exactly the same thing. Although this town is still a pretty safe place to live, I've been in places that aren't, and I was completely unprepared for someone to barge in on my new home. A few minutes and a pot of coffee later, we were already becoming very good neighbors. I decided that any neighborhood where the people would take such an interest had to be a good one.

Once the real gas man showed up, I was able to go to bed, that being the only piece of furniture that was in the right room, much less the right spot. I work midnights, and I had gotten off at 9:30 that morning, and hadn't slept. Due to my excitement at having the new place, I wasn't able to sleep well, and was up around 5, unpacking and moving the furniture.

For some reason, my uncle had deposited the 8 ft. cat tree in the bedroom, and the corner of the living room where I wanted it was crammed with furniture, so that was my first task. I did NOT want to share the bedroom with a cat tree-- cats are playful enough in a bedroom without toys.

Bed mice are Zeke's favorite toy, actually. Every bed has mice. They lurk at the foot of the bed, under the covers, and move at odd intervals. A kitten's job, of course, is to kill the bedmice. Once the bedmice have been killed, and the human is bleeding from all ten toes, the kitten has bravely protected the area, is allowed to curl up with his human to sleep.

Kittens come in handy when you're unpacking a great deal of crap. They investigate each and every box as it opens, to let you know what's in it. They continue to investigate until every item is out of the box, and there is nothing left for them to shed on. Once the box is empty, it must be killed. This is a job for the older cats. They craftily turn the box on its end, and take a nap on it, causing the middle to sink in, breaking the glue bonds that hold the box together. It's a difficult job, and only the best cats need apply. I am blessed with intelligent cats that were well able to help me in this manner.

Cats also help move furniture, by taking naps directly in your path. This insures that the pathway is free of monsters, murderous pieces of lint, and the like. Imagine the poor furniture, innocently traveling through a path covered in lint! Thank goodness the cats are there to protect it!

For some reason it took me 3 days to get the furniture moved.

I'm happy to say, that despite the feline help, the house was eventually put in order, and we live here very happily.