Yesterday Badger and I were catching up via text, as we do, and one topic was whether Rumble would recognize the import of the green Frogboxes we’re renting this coming Monday for the move. He would climb on them, of course, but would he see them as a harbinger of relocation? All was well.
At about nine last night he had something that may have been a heart attack, and though we rushed him to 24-hour kitty hospital, there was nothing they could do but smooth out and speed up what was already happening to him.
K and I are in shock, with devastation to come. I’d love to write our boy a beautiful eulogy, but I’m not up to it. Maybe in a few weeks/months/years, mmm? Plus also, we’re signing papers on the condo in about ninety minutes.
Rumble had a lot of friends out there and he’ll be missed all over.
My beloved, shadow-colored Rumble is going through one of those phases where his favorite place to be is underfoot, preferably at three in the morning. This is troublesome, naturally, because at three I’m a lumbering, nearsighted beast with a wobbly ankle, bound on autopilot for the bathroom. He’s gotten stepped on twice and punted once, and I think it’s sinking in. (If it doesn’t, I’ll start slowly and carefully stepping on him whenever I see he’s in my way. Otherwise an ugly trip to the human or kitteh emergency room is an inevitability).
There’s been a fair amount of kitty acting out lately, what with my having torn up the office and, as of last Wednesday, mostly closed it to feline traffic. It’s all less traumatic than actually moving them to a new home would be, but they can’t appreciate that. I did manage to open the door for part of yesterday while I was rearranging for the next stage of painting. Minnow was visibly happier after she’d had a chance to see that the room still existed.
After the painting, the next stage for this little project is to move the office stuff into the bedroom, and the bedroom stuff into the office. The former will be quite the tight squeeze, but that will hopefully motivate K and I to continue getting rid of some of our not-so-needed crap.
The office is as close as Minnow gets to having her own territory in the house, so I am expecting there will be another explosion of cat unhappiness and maneuvering once that’s all accomplished. Rumble will not cede the bed or bedroom to anyone. He barely tolerates me sleeping in there. (What? I am enslaved by cats. This is news?)
I’ll have to build Minnow an exceptionally nice nest in the ‘new’ office.
10. Since when does ‘not allowed’ apply to felines, anyway?
9. You’re not letting me pounce on Minnow six times a day.
8. Cat hair and/or litter particles that end up in your digestive tract are hair and sand you don’t inhale or have to sweep up.
7. The adorable do as we please.
6. As the only male in the house, I find the policy sexist.
5. Seriously, you are totally welcome to help yourself to anything in my food dish!
4. Isn’t it dumb to have a rule you can only enforce when you’re home, awake, and attending to my movements?
3. Your grandma called and she’s good with it.
2. This power struggle is beneath you, human.
1. Interested stakeholders (me) weren’t consulted prior to the rule being implemented.