SO, praise be to the Universe, we are "finished" moving. Finished is in quotes because it only applies to Phase I, or the transporting of objects from one domicile to another. Now we have entered Phase II, AKA unpacking. For anyone familiar with Phase II, the boxes stacked chest high along every hallway and a garage packed almost as tightly as the truck is quite
daunting. If we all had a solid week without work or other responsibilities it would be a no-brainer to knock that out. Amazingly, we don't have that kind of free time, so towered boxes and missing items will continue to be our reality for a while.
Overall this move (my 18th?) has been a relative cakewalk compared to moving across country or at less financially advantageous times. We are so fortunate in our lives while so many are not, and the idea of complaining about anything seems like an exercise in First World Narcissism and greed. Suffice it to say we feel "blessed", a word I rarely use but somehow seems appropriate here. Coming from an Animist.
I do have one inconvenience to share that folks can likely relate to, if not by experience then at least empathetically. Radar, the escaped then captured muse called Basement Cat who believes himself to be Ceiling Cat tore the shit out of my dominant right hand as an expression of distaste at entering The Cat Carrier.
Details of this aggression and more under the orange protest cat turd, to be found at any given moment in any given location around the new house. Do watch your step as you read the message from our sponsor. There could easily be another just around the corner...
WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. Won't you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?
Since the mauling I've been offered suggestions and a good deal of scorn from friends and acquaintances. Why didn't you wear an oven mitt or some work gloves? Wouldn't a Xanax have made his reluctance a non-issue? Did you try coaxing him in? Why does this always happen to you? Are you a fucking idiot or what?
All good suggestions and legitimate questions, but the reality of why this happened is two-fold. One, we don't call the boy Fraidar for nothing. For a cat who fancies himself the Master of the Universe, he sure as hell is afraid of all His universe contains. Someone on the other side of the house accidentally slams a kitchen cabinet and he's under the bed. Move your foot at the wrong moment while he's passing? You might as well be telegraphing a kick in his direction. This is almost certainly an artifact of having been an urban stray as well as his natural disposition. It's simply who he is and while it can sometimes be frustrating it's mostly endearing.
Secondly, and probably most important to why this happened, is his recently having gone missing/lost and the subsequent capture. He DID NOT LIKE the live trap that caught him and he most certainly didn't like being transported in confinement to the Austin animal shelter for scanning and check up nor the ride home. He was one pissed of Radar and actually hissed at and swatted the cage once released. Knowing all of this, I decided gloves or anything impeding my grip was out of the question and had only one shot at getting him caged.
The details of how I got him to approach voluntarily as I sat on the floor next to the open carrier boil down to an open can of tuna and much lovey talk and petting.
"Why are you such a Fraidar who likes me to scratch his ears, huh? Isn't that some good tuna for a Basement Cat with delusions of grandeur? Yes, it is some good tuna and yes you are a Fraidar and I love you too..."
Then shit got evil.
Now, I've had cats my whole life and learned very early from my Great-Grandmother that picking up to carry and control is to be Mama Cat and grab the scruff of his neck. Radar generally goes limp and compliant with this but knowing his opinion on The Carrier meant it had to be fast and firm. So firm that escape was impossible. Time for you to go inside, Radar, no questions asked.
In the end, he chose the open door and darkness inside as an escape. His fight having run out he could only move to get away. Unfortunately that was not before a mighty, mighty struggle to include his fully splayed rear paw (bearing claws to the quick) let me know who was boss. It's hard to tell from the picture how very deep those were. They weren't even scratches, but full-blown cuts to the dermis. This image is about three days later, after regular applications of NewSkin and Neosporin. The one at my first joint wrapped all the way around almost to the nail.
Of course, they all became infected and the subsequent pain and swelling made it pretty difficult to grasp, pull, push, shlep and carry stuff as we came down to the wire on vacating the premises. It would be fair to say that deal totally sucked. Totally sucked.
Yet, here we are all moved in, the cuts are mostly healed and Radar is no longer hiding. He does still leave the occasional package for us, but that should stop soon. Mostly he's just a Fraidar and a love and a walking, purring exercise in forgiveness. I am certain readers will be hearing from him personally on this issue and other important matters soon enough.
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And now a quick note about problem Two, which isn't so much a problem as a frustration. I have a hard deadline on Tuesday with a lot riding on it, not the least of which is money. Without going into details, I've hit a wall with editing a crucial narrative and it is testing my patience as well as my nerves. I don't often find myself stuck as a writer, especially when a lot is riding on it. This one has me a bit out of sorts so I'm just venting it here among friends, not looking for advice as there really isn't any to give. I'm just putting it out there to the Universe in the hopes that one or both of the Feline Deities will take pity on my blockage, open a can in my honor, and let flow the text and structure so I can truly call it finished.
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Now it's your turn. WYFP?
And hopes for resolutions, solutions, reversals and changes of fortune concerning all effing problems to readers and all citizens of the World. A tall order, to be sure, but my wish nonetheless.