Due to too many empty and packed boxes strewn around my house right now, and the incredible tiredness I feel in my bones, head, toes, feet, back, brain, fingernails and spirit, I can’t conjure up enough words or clever ideas or even boring ideas to sit down and write a blog tonight. It is six more days until moving day and each one looms large in the amount of stuff I still have to do before I lock the door here for the last time.
If all that wasn’t enough, the cats are becoming very, very suspicious about what the hell is going on. This morning at the literal crack of dawn, there they were on the bed beaming their demands at me under the sleep mask that I try to hide behind until a more reasonable hour than 5 am. Rose positioned herself on one side and Nick on the other. They had stretched themselves lengthwise so the mere bulk of them kept me trapped in between. Every once in a while, one or the other would get up and breathe into my face, demanding that I remove the mask and listen to them. They, like all cats, are unrelenting in getting what they want.
I had already explained the logistics of what is happening here but they needed more reassurance. So I told them, “Hey, listen, we’re not going far. We’re just moving up the hill, like Jack and Jill, but we’re not going to tumble anywhere.” They informed me that they had never heard of two cats called Jack and Jill nor did they think it an appropriate salve to their nervousness. There was nothing to do but get out of bed and go downstairs and feed them which is always a salve for something — at least temporarily.
We’ll get through this week and we’ll get through this move and new neighbourhood and strangeness. It really all does come out in the wash — it’s just convincing me and the cats that that’s true.