They say a picture is worth a thousand flecks of kibble...humans have a variant on this wise cat saying, but you get the picture.
What are they thinking, my people? Are they concerned that U-Haul will go belly-up (another odd human saying because a belly-up cat is quite pleasing, when you think about it)? That, or, more likely, they are gluttons for punishment.
We drive 7 hours back to the little house, Oom takes off to party in Santa Fe with the people she computer-writes to all day long when she's home "working," Boo hangs out with people talking about an old dead guy who walked around 100 years ago drawing and taking photos of town, then they get this little, ugly rolling dog house and try to cram all kinds of leftover stuff in it.
I just don't get humans. They don't give a cat much of a chance at understanding.
Don't get me wrong. Alex and I got some great Hamptons party time in. I was pretty busy hanging with Uncle David, my cool North Haven human neighbor who has old boats cats can play in, plenty of power tools - including the Sawzall reciprocating saw, likes staring at fish in water, and enjoys sitting in the garage in the morning hanging with me. For some reason, he didn't buy the house next door to us in our new home in the big park. I'm going to miss him.
I also partied with some of my old friends in the neighborhood. Boo "lost track" of me for a while. I showed up after a bit of revelry and dust painting - the Hamptons is an artsy scene for cats.
Oom got back and was all tired and sick after the New Mexico party, so we opted for a nice romantic dinner for two... Three of the four cat food groups: double cream cheese, a good red wine, and dead bird - Alex likes bread, but I prefer kibble. Boo figured it out and brought his own chair.
The next day, this nice guy named George came over and told stories (more about the dead guy who took pictures) but let me make long-distance calls on his cool hip phone. Oom should get one of these instead of the kind that flips over like a clam, making it hard for a cat to make long-distance calls.
We had more nice red wine that night - this one from Hungarian Oak casks. A nice complement to the roaring fire of dry sticks from all the great climbing trees in the yard. It was our last night all together in the little house.
Then this began.
And it went on all day and into the night.
I walked out of the house to a packed car and trailer at 8:00 in the evening. I took a deep breath, saddled up, and hung on for the next 8 hours at 55 miles per hour back north. I slept through most of it - except for the nice little Tom Kha Kai Thai soup break. At the end of it all, somewhere near Albany, I had to comfort Oom a bit as Alex decided to present unscheduled wailing oratory from about 2 am to 3:21 am.
It's good to be back inside the Blue Line. We're never leaving again.
Ever.
Period.
