Moving day quickly approaches..
My poor babies. Lucy, the rounded one, has remained oblivious, lounging around as we strip our cabinets and stack boxes next to her bed. As an all-day-long sleeper she has never cared much where she ends up, as long as there is a lap to drool on every night. Leo, however, knows something is going down. His eyes are surly, half-closed as we pack, and he has been slinking around the house, visibly perturbed. As the frisky outdoor kitty, he is attached to this house and its yard the way Lucy and her 12-pounds of doughy fluff is attached to the ottoman.
We don’t want to move. Not only do I hate the whole process of moving, our house is kinda rad. Perched in a quirky neighborhood in a peaceful hippy town, it has a beautiful new kitchen and bathroom, a gigantic amount of storage, a large master bedroom, and hardwood floors. It’s the best place I’ve ever lived that I’ve paid for myself. For the price of my rent, I could own two small houses in a different state, but I got over that pain a while ago. The main drawback to our house is that it is far from the freeway, stores, the city and, most importantly, my new job.
The new place is nice, with a big yard, and I know we’ll come to love it. Leo, however, is probably deathly afraid of going back to an apartment building, to something like what my previous landlord dubbed the “cat ghetto.” I let him share his thoughts.
Leo, on thug life:
I know I’m street- I’ve earned the right to say that. Were you born on a fluffy blanket, surrounded by the warmth of a mom and siblings? No? Well neither was I. My first moments of life were on hard, cold concrete. Our birth mom jumped away and never came back that first night, and we would have died if it weren’t for this human lady. She smelled funny but she was warm.
The humans have been good to us, I’ll admit, though I’m not sure if anyone could resist my sexiness; I look damn fine. But the digs have been rough. All I want is a little peace when I go out, a field where I can stalk gophers and birds, but instead I keep running up on these fools. I’ll find the perfect hunting spot and “boom!” some psycho ginger is all over me like a hungry flea. At the last place, I perfected my battle skills: fast paws, sinking butt bites, ominous growls and even rooftop ambushes. I also kept getting stuffed into this crappy plastic crate and going to this cold little room where.. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination; Let’s say these weren’t my fondest memories.
At our place now, I run the street. A couple lady cats about half my size sometimes come in the yard, but they see my statuesque self, hear my now grizzled battle howl, and they flee. (Why don’t I make nice with the females? That ship sailed a loong time ago, sadly). Around here, I’m the Leo. All the humans know my name.
My humans aren’t fooling me- I know what the boxes mean. I guess I should start sharpening my claws, cause it could be back to the ghetto for us.
As long as my internet gets hooked up correctly, I’ll have the rest of the Hawaii trip next week!