A Chorus Feline

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According to global living standards, I have a ton of possessions. I have more clothes than I need, more shoes than I need, more kitchen gadgets and more computer toys and more stuffed dinosaurs than I need. And I have many, many, many books, excessive by even American standards.

But even when you factor in the books, I own far less than the average American. I don’t have a kitchen table or a couch or a television. I’m pretty good about purging crap I don’t need, and I’m even better about not acquiring it in the first place.

So at first blush, you might wonder why I hired movers.

It sounds decadent and bourgeois. I felt like a traitor to my class when I hired some local guys to move me. But here’s the thing: I couldn’t see how to get me and the cats and my stuff AND MY CAR moved all the way to western North Carolina. In theory I could have rented a U-Haul and towed the car along behind me, but when I went to the U-Haul website to watch a video showing you how damn easy it is to load your car onto the trailer, I realized I was way out of my depth. Also, I could not realistically see myself driving a big truck all that way.

Now, as we have established, I don’t own all that much crap. I figured it would take the movers an hour or two. Instead it took them FOUR AND A HALF hours to load the van. I have never seen people amble along at such an unhurried pace. I was dying to get on the road, and the three cats were simply dying. Or at least that’s what it sounded like. They were locked in the bathroom while the movers busied themselves with cigarette breaks and leisurely strolls up the stairs.

When I finally got the cats loaded in their carriers (which entailed personally moving the stove to retrieve Gremlin from her hiding place) and into the car, it was 2:48 in the afternoon, and I was facing a six- or seven-hour drive, accompanied by the yowling of three exceedingly unhappy cats. They were my own private Greek chorus, wailing and despairing and warning of tragedy.

“Just remember that they’re not in mortal danger,” Mom advised me, only she was mistaken, as I was weighing the pros and cons of going Medea on them.

But finally we got to our new home, just past 9 on Tuesday night. It was a long, long trip for the three cats and their human driver, exacerbated by heavy traffic and heavier rains, but we finally made it to Weaverville.

I wish I could say the same for my stuff.

It is standard, I have discovered, for moving companies to deliver your items several days after you’ve moved. It is standard– but it is not common knowledge, and the moving company didn’t bother to inform me in advance. I was able to stuff a blanket, a sleeping bag, a few toiletries, a few undies, a litter box, and my coffee-making supplies into my car (which, you may recall, was mostly filled with cat carriers). The rest of my stuff should be here on or before Tuesday. I hope.

I’ll write more about the new place  and the new environment soon. For now, take a gander at the first few pictures of the new digs.

Mom and Dad got me this bowl as a housewarming gift. I love it. It’s the first piece of art I’ve ever owned, unless you count the Klimt t-shirt I used to wear.

Those are shiny blue stones at the bottom, but they’re underneath a smooth glaze.

I wonder where Gremlin is.

This road runs behind my house.

You can see my car down there, alongside the a slice of my house.


2 responses »

  1. Your new home looks nice. (And Gremlin is on the fridge, in case you are still wondering.)

  2. Lafriend: I had eventually worked that out on my own, but thank you anyway.


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