My wife and I made the permanent move here this Sunday after buying 4 years ago and only able to visit our home here on Holidays. We hailed from Charleston, WV and our place here was called Millie’s Place from the beginning after our zen like cat Millie. Millie is able to stare contently into the distance no matter what the chaos surrounding so under times of stress my wife and I would tell each other to just go to “Millie’s Place”. At age 20 she has finally made it here
We are keeping our friends at home informed about the the sag of relocating to the OBX and I sent them the item below which my wife urged me to pst here. As we settle in I will try to tell you what it is like to move to OBX.
Let me regale you with the special events of day three of retirement/relocation. There had been much discussion about the placement of a litter box for the cats at our new full time residence. As always, the issue was location, location, location.
The first night the location was in my bathroom. There was early success with even blind Millie able to utilize it properly. On the second day this was moved to a closet in the second bedroom and we dutifully carried the cats there and acclimated them. But Donna realized she needed that closet for shoes. So the landing to the ground floor became the optimal site. But we did not want to leave that door open all the time so the brainstorm was to put a cat door in that door. A handyman was located and we explained our mission to his ever increasing amusement. First there was the argument on placement of the cat door——whether aesthetics or function should determine that. I prevailed by arguing that age and frailty should determine that—-the cats’ ,not mine. The handyman was here at 9 this morning and installed the door. Now, since the cats were facing their third litter placement in three days my graduate trained behaviorist wife took over the training. The handyman exercised his right, nay, desire, to watch this. With the door closed, Donna crouched on the stairs and stuck her arm through the cat door with treats in her hand and called for them. They were having none of it. We switched places and she tried to stuff a cat through the hole. Much resistance occurred. She yelled at me to pull the cat through but only the head was reachable and in my experience cats do not like to be throttled and pulled through a hole ending up god knows where to their knowledge. At this point the handyman was trying to keep from laughing especially because Donna had told him she worked with autistic kids. The white cat was having nothing to do with being shoved down what it certainly now envisioned as the Hole of Death. So we switched to the 20 year old gray cat. This is the cat mostly deaf and blind but it suddenly harkened back to its youth and summoned a berserker strength. The cat swelled from a 4 inch radius to a solid 12 inches not willin to gently into the night. The handyman is now trying to determine whether he wants our future business or just wants to let loose the belly laugh he is desperately holding in. Finally a truce is called and we retreat to determine the best behaviorist approach and training method. The handyman bids us goodbye and looks forward to regaling the local bars with his small part in this debacle.
Postscript: After a calmer approach and sufficient treats they were convinced to transit the Hole of Death. We will wait till morrow to see if they can remember the location for any required nighttime visit. Or they might decide to poop in Donna’s shoes on just general principles.