I am now officially a resident of Midwestern Funky Town. I really hope that I am content to spend the rest of my days in my new little cottage, because the thought of moving again makes me want to take my own life.Granted, this move was not nearly as traumatic as the move from Texas to Boston. For starters, my sister came to accompany me on the trip. Also, paying people to move your crap saves on a lot of backache.
Movers, I found, come with their own hassles. GayProf is not somebody who loses his temper easily. True, true, I can get mighty angry. Usually, though, I am more of a “slow-burn” type of guy. Indeed, I couldn’t even think of the last time that I yelled at anybody. My best guess is that it was Liar Ex (Who Should Have Been Yelled at Much More Because of All the Lies that He Told) a couple years ago.
Imagine my surprise when, at nine in the morning, I found myself in a yelling match with my “moving team leader” over the third delay in delivery. Actually, it wasn’t so much the delay that set me over the edge. In truth, the actual delivery time from Boston to MFT was pretty swift. Rather, I lost my shit after their latest delay when the team leader tried to claim that he had originally promised his new [late] time in the first place and was, therefore, not at all late (Somehow forgetting our previously missed appointments and the promise (PROMISE) that they would be there at this new time. I can deal with being late, but I can’t deal with a denial of a promise. Plus, moving just stretches me beyond my normal zen limits.
In short, I probably followed very few of Tenured Radical’s Patented Tips for a Healthy and Successful Move©. Why do we never learn from those who have the experience?
Now that I am in MFT, I have not had many opportunities to avail myself of its funkiness. On her last night in town, my sister and I ate at the local Ethiopian restaurant. Beyond that, my life has been devoted to unpacking and pensively waiting for my internet connection. No matter how many times I twitch my nose, the boxes don’t open themselves in order to allow all of my belongings to escape into their respective cupboards and shelves. Maybe I just need the right incantation... Untill then, I am just unwrapping. It’s like Christmas – Only there aren’t any surprises and I already owned everything. Maybe Uncle Arthur will pop up in my oven to break the monotony. . .
Many of you have inquired about Cat. Alas, if his master dislikes moving, Cat loathes it with every fiber in his tiny little being. He probably also despised his master for having misplaced the kitty tranquilizers.
We had not left Boston when the distinct smell of Cat scat made the car rotten (Dr. Seuss has nothing on me!). Well, I can at least count my blessings that he didn’t shit on me as he did last time.
Despite that inauspicious start, he settled down considerably by the second day. Indeed, he became so quiet during the second day that I began to wonder if he had suffered a heart attack and died somewhere along the journey.
What does one do if their pet dies on the road? Do you try to find a kitty crematorium and have them mail you the remains? Do you pack the body in dry ice? Do you stop at the next historic marker and make a hasty grave? These options all seemed like a fairly ignoble end for poor Cat.
Finally, when we crossed through yet another toll booth, Cat roused himself enough to register his ongoing complaint about his predicament. It was a relief to know that he had not yet shuffled off this mortal coil.
Now that we are in the new digs, Cat seems to be having a ball. After a year in a studio apartment, he seems almost drunk to run across the house (Yes, it as pictured in the previous post).
With all of my worry about Cat, I began to consider if, indeed, I have become "CrazyCatProf.” I go back and forth on this. In the end, I decided that I would let the readers of CoG decide. Here, ladies and gentleman of the jury, is the evidence:
CrazyCatProf: I have made special trips to the grocery store just because Cat was out of snacks. He wasn’t out of FOOD, just snacks.
Not CrazyCatProf: Once Cat does ascend to the great scratching post in the sky, I have no intention of replacing him with another cat. Don’t get me wrong – I love Cat and hope he has a long life. I am not keeping a death watch on him. It’s just that, once he is gone, I think that I will have accomplished all that can be fulfilled with feline ownership. In the future, I will adopt another dog (but probably only after I retire).
CrazyCatProf: I know the exact type of ball that Cat will play with and which types of balls/toys bore him.
Not CrazyCatProf: I rarely toss that ball around with him. I expect Cat to be self-entertaining.
CrazyCatProf: I keep a statue of St. Francis around that I consider his.
NotCrazyCatProf: I also happen to think it is a cool statue and would own it anyway.
CrazyCatProf: When I travel, I have much angst about Cat’s safety and comfort.
Not CrazyCatProf: Though he has a name, I rarely use it. He is most often referred to as “Cat.” For example, “Get out of my way, Cat.”
CrazyCatProf: Though my own meager belongings are quite trashed at this point, I left behind Cat’s scratching post so that I could buy him a new one. Indeed, it is the only piece of “furniture” that was left behind so that it could replaced with a better one.
Not CrazyCatProf: Though the sitting part is clearly too small for Cat, I opted for a new scratching post that was 75 percent off at the local pet store. They had the exact one that he had before, but that was full price. Given it is just some carpet and twine stapled to a bunch of plywood, I will always go for the bargain.
CrazyCatProf: I was relieved that Cat didn’t seem to mind the much smaller seating section on his new post (Though he does look a bit squashed).
Not CrazyCatProf: I consider scratching posts an investment to keep my furniture from being destroyed by a bored Cat.
Not CrazyCatProf: If Cat is sleeping on a piece of furniture that I want to use, I will wake him up and toss him off (I have seen other people make other arrangements for themselves rather than disturb their sleeping animals).
CrazyCatProf: I am not impressed when dates try to ingratiated themselves with me by paying attention to my cat. It just annoys us both. Tell me: What cat, anywhere on this planet, enjoys a stranger picking them up and getting in their face? None.
Not CrazyCatProf: I have no trouble locking cat in another room for hours if I have a date (with food and water). Indeed, Cat knows not to whine or meow under such circumstances because I will not let him out (Consistency is the key!).
Not CrazyCatProf: I consider forcing any animal to wear little sweaters and outfits inhumane. Even this one:
Not CrazyCatProf: I have considered shaving my Cat to avoid having to deal with his fur everywhere.
CrazyCatProf: I would consider letting somebody else adopt Cat a betrayal of the trust he placed in me.
Not CrazyCatProf: I know that Cat does not really have human notions of "trust."
CrazyCatProf: Cat clearly prefers my company over all other humans on the planet.
Not CrazyCatProf: Given my many experiences with Cat shitting on everything, he will no longer have the pillow insert for his carrier ever again. From now on, Cat only travels in or on things that can be easily hosed down and disinfected. Screw his comfort.
CrazyCatProf: I have just devoted a blog entry to my Cat.
