Pets and moving

I was checking the blog yesterday evening, waiting for tea water to boil, just minding my own business. Pete was being needy and adorable, as he usually is when I get home from work. Then he disappeared. I turned to see this.

Give a cat a high spot, and he will get into it.

So far, our cats are oblivious to moving. That is the way of cats. Diesel, I think, understands, but only because he gets to ride out to the new place every weekend. Reading this hysterical story, I was a little worried about Diesel. He is, as you know, a dog. Dogs are more perceptive than cats, but also more apt to get tied into hyper knots of anxiety. So it goes with our terrier.

Heaven help me, though, for I think Diesel understands. In his neurotic little head, I think a few things are making sense.

Mom and Dad are nice.

Therefore, I love them.

Therefore, they love me too.

Therefore, Mom and Dad have bought me a bigger yard.

Therefore, Mom and Dad are even nicerer!

When I moved in with Patrick, the sudden appearance of moving boxes (and CATS!) in Diesel's space was high drama. Before I showed up, the house in Binghamton was a veritable bachelor pad. Patrick and Diesel were roommates, best buds. Nothing got in the way of them having a good time. And then The Girl showed up. That's me. I put furniture and boxes in Diesel's space. I also brought fun new toys to play with, like cats. And tampons. Unfortunately for Diesel, the journey of ascertaining that the cats and tampons were not toys got him yelled at a lot. He reacted to the emotional stress of the yelling and the boxes and the cats by eating my shoes, trying to eat my cats, and peeing on my moving boxes. It took awhile for me to go from Girl Who Ruined My Entire Life and Venerable All-Knowing All-Seeing Mom.

Anyway. That's moving story number one. So far, moving story number two is a lot more smooth. Instead of bringing Harbingers of Doom (cats) into HIS space, I'm MOM, a noble instrument in the procurement of a bigger yard.

I'm okay with that.