Small Brass Nut

My cat was exhibiting the signs of cat trauma. He was meowing a lot. It happened right after the move. My sister asked in email how that went. I spoke with Dave on the phone today, told him about the movers. He said that maybe he should ask them how it went. The answer is that was harder on Roly Poly than me. I had to pack / unpack boxes. Roly poly had to survive in his dog crate. In survival mode he went without food, water, or a spot to comfortably relieve himself. After an unknown amount of time, I put his cage in the front / extra bedroom / Etta studio, and opened the door. I moved his litter box, food and water in there. After another unknown amount of time, I opened that door and he crept out to a new, very large place. He was scared.

The first night I was running the bathtub faucet and microwaving a bag of popcorn and the meowing started. He meowed over and again. I checked him for lumps. But it was just he was afraid. Fear was the cat’s lumps. Roly poly was in the grips of the fear. I never hollered at him or called him a bad name, because I know the fear, too. I did splash water at him. He was fine. The second night I paid off the neighbors for a weeks internet. On the computer, I researched cat fear, and emailed my sister the results. She said that Roly poly was a brass nut, but that he probably needed more petting and attention. By this time I had the place put together, the boxes gone, everything near its place. I took out his fine tooth cat comb and brushed him. He meowed excessively right when I stopped.

At that point I considered rushing him to the car and driving straight to a twenty four cat hospital. But we hung in there, and he settled down. When I got home from work the third night, I opened the door to the apartment and met old Roly Poly. He tried to rush past me but I kicked him in. Then I chased him to his tree. He dug his claws in as if to say, “I’m going to get you!” and leaped off to attack a catnip mouse. The last move, for me, way more traumatic. This time around, it was harder on the cat. But I try my hardest to give him lots of extra attention. For instance, the blog post.

I got a message from a family friend who has been in my life since I was tiny, Fran. She said the funeral for Whitney Houston, looking back on a life of achievement and the highs reached, accompanied by songs from the nineties, reminded her of my mom. She said mom was just as special. My aunt, sister and I were on her mind last weekend. The above picture is from 1998. I remember going to Costa Rica with my mom and Aunt Judy to visit Kate. Sitting between them on the shuttle to the airport, I felt so safe. That was pretty cool, our journey to Central America. “Somehow the music, etc. just made me think of her and how great a person she was in spite of all her frailties. I need to tell you this.”