So … part two of the move. The movers arrived and the beasts ran for my bedroom closet. I left the door cracked open so they wouldn’t die, but otherwise kind of forgot about them because I knew they wouldn’t come out. I removed myself to the front deck so I wouldn’t be in the way. The movers took my storm door off the hinges and left my front door wide open.
That’s when it happened. Apparently Fiona was not in the closet with Indy, but hiding under my desk when one of the guys scared her. She ran out into the front room but instead of making for the open door (thank God), she threw herself onto the windowsill and against the window with a huge *BANG* Then she just sat there shaking like a chihuahua. I ran inside, closed the door and tried to pick her up. Bad, bad mistake.
I finally got her in the carrier (where I should have put her to begin with), but not before she put a deep scratch in my arm, two puncture wounds on my chest, another gouge in my chest and two on my back as she used all of her claws to climb up and over my shoulder to escape.
The movers left a lot of little crap so I still had to do some of the moving myself. Instead of getting cardboard wardrobes from the moving company – because that would have been smart – I put trashbags over my hanging clothes. Except my dress pants and a few sweaters. For a reason that escapes me now, I just stuffed them into a trashbag. And then I tied the bag. And then my brother took it to the dumpster at his apartment complex, along with the rest of the trash. I didn’t realize the bag was missing until it was too late. Yay!
My friends came over to help me unpack and organize and I didn’t get back to the old place until later that evening – and found both cats in the closet. I don’t think they had come out at all. One might think they took after me, but I’ve been out of the closet for a long time. Once I got the beasts to the new place, I let them out of the carriers in the basement, because that’s where my old (and familiar) furniture was. That was Saturday night and I didn’t see Indy until Tuesday.
Sunday the cable company set up my cable but couldn’t put an outlet in my computer room because I didn’t have a release from the landlord which no one told me I needed. He left me a very long ethernet cable that went from the living room box to the computer room so at least I had internet. Thursday another cable guy came to knock a hole in the wall and give me an outlet so I could stop tripping over that cable. He went to the basement and I told him that there were two freaked out cats down there and to be sure to close the door to the garage behind him. And so he did. He didn’t put a hole in the wall either, but gave me a wireless adapter instead. Why didn’t the first guy think of that? Hell, why didn’t I think of that?
I didn’t see Indy the rest of that night. I didn’t see her Friday or Saturday, either. Saturday night I went downstairs and called her because I was getting worried about her. I thought she was tucked up under the recliner, which has always been her hiding spot. She meowed but it seemed to be coming from behind me. From the garage. Oh no. So I opened the door and she staggered inside. I got her some food and water and she doesn’t seem any worse for the experience, but this is probably reason #72 why I never had children.
Also, I have no pants.