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The cats are in hiding — deep hiding. There are painters and the Brothers Lewis and the mover giving me an estimate all bumping around my place this morning. Open doors are banging shut by the wind and there’s lots of useless arguments between Len and his older brother about wasting $40. You would think that with all the money they already spent and all the money they are due to make from the sale of this place that $40 would not mean a hell of a lot one way or the other. Oh well, it’s not my $40 or my problem. My concern is the furry beasts

The cats absolutely, positively, without question hate all the upheaval. As a matter of fact, so do I. Unfortunately, I cannot climb under the covers with Nick or shimmy myself to the back of the closet with Rose. I know they’re terrified and are starting to doubt any sweet nothings that I pass their way. All the sweetie-pie-honey-bunches that I coo to them are received with a scepticism worthy of the greatest doubting philosopher. I don’t blame them. I don’t believe myself anymore when I say, as I leave the house, “Bye, Nicky. Bye, Rosey. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry about a thing.” “Hah”, I hear them snicker from the back of the couch, followed by a verse of, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” which follows me down the steps. They’re onto me and my empty words.

When I explain to them that this will all be over soon and we’ll have a new place, new corners to discover, great light, windowsills to perch upon and watch the world go by, they’re not convinced — am I? I think so. It’s only 2.3 miles from where we are now which they want converted into kilometres since they’re Canadian cats, after all. They try to convince me that the three of us do have somethings to worry about, eh? They’re concerned about important things like their favourite schmattas — will I remember to pack them or will they be left behind? Will the same high-quality food be served from their favourite plates and, most importantly, at the same times and in the same — or greater — amounts? I gave them a full-mouth smile to say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have you go hungry.” It doesn’t keep them from watching the closet where all the food is kept to make sure that it all — every tin, every bag, and, most importantly, those Temptations — make it into the TAKE pile and the box properly marked.

I tried to appease them by buying them a fancy water bowl. It was highly recommended by the eight Ohio cats at Chez Eyerman who gave it eight paws up. It’s quite beautiful, IMG_1869actually, and I wouldn’t mind lapping water out of it. I thought I should do something  nice for them in the middle of all this chaos — and to keep Nick from splashing water all over the kitchen floor. Was I trying to buy their love back? They, obviously, thought that was the case because they royally ignored it as long as they could and now only sip from it when they think I’m not looking. They’re doing it on purpose to make me worry whether they’re getting enough water.

Well, it’s time for me to leave and go upstairs and convince Rose in the back of the closet and Nick under the covers that, surely, this should be the last day of all the coming-and-going from the painters and the Brothers Lewis pounding around and that kind of disturbance. But I’d be lying.  Somehow they would know that when all this is done and  the sign goes up and the inspector and the buyers start their walk throughs and who knows what else, it will be back to the hiding places. I won’t tell them that we just have to roll with it for the rest of this month. I wish the three of us could just escape; find ourselves a nice bungalow on the beach and come back all tanned and relaxed to find all this moving stuff done and our new place beautifully finished and ready for us. They won’t buy that for sure. All I can do is make a softer bed for Rose in the back of the closet, put a lighter quilt on the bed for Nick to hide under and chill a bottle of wine for me.

 

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