My two cats, who shall remain under their secret identity super spy cat names, finally made it home tonight. After 13 months of being separated, I finally got them home in a fit of crying, screaming, foaming at the mouth and poo'ing all over their carrier.
I really feel for these two, because they have almost gone through some of the same stresses I have, except on a much smaller scale. In comparison though, the amount of stress they have been through is probably a lot for those little peanut brains. Before I left, I took them to my grandmothers. A couple months later my grandpa had a stroke, so they were handed them off to my dad. Naturally, my dad and the cats did not get a long. He, convinced they were "out to get him" as he put it and I imagine they, wanting to get the heck out of there (I know I did after a month). All of this, while I was 3,000 miles away. From my dad's they moved again a couple months later to my friend Lyndsay, who took them in until I got home. Oh, she also went through a move as well.
I have them home now and strangely, they are already in their same spots they would always be - Mr. Poops by the window and Gucky on the couch. They are talking like they always do, purring and cuddling like I didn't just put them through the torture of a 15 minute car ride through Chicago, complete with a dunk in water to get the poo off them. (Graphic, isn't it?) I actually might think that they remember me.
I moved three times, my cats four. I was on the verge of crazy when I got back after feeling so vagrant for so long. I'm going to give them a some time - just like I've done for myself. I think we both deserve a treat - except mine aren't chicken flavored.
I really feel for these two, because they have almost gone through some of the same stresses I have, except on a much smaller scale. In comparison though, the amount of stress they have been through is probably a lot for those little peanut brains. Before I left, I took them to my grandmothers. A couple months later my grandpa had a stroke, so they were handed them off to my dad. Naturally, my dad and the cats did not get a long. He, convinced they were "out to get him" as he put it and I imagine they, wanting to get the heck out of there (I know I did after a month). All of this, while I was 3,000 miles away. From my dad's they moved again a couple months later to my friend Lyndsay, who took them in until I got home. Oh, she also went through a move as well.
I have them home now and strangely, they are already in their same spots they would always be - Mr. Poops by the window and Gucky on the couch. They are talking like they always do, purring and cuddling like I didn't just put them through the torture of a 15 minute car ride through Chicago, complete with a dunk in water to get the poo off them. (Graphic, isn't it?) I actually might think that they remember me.
I moved three times, my cats four. I was on the verge of crazy when I got back after feeling so vagrant for so long. I'm going to give them a some time - just like I've done for myself. I think we both deserve a treat - except mine aren't chicken flavored.
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