Life at the Kitty Spa

Today the movers took the furniture our realtor's stager didn't want plus all my books and a lot of other miscellaneous boxes to the storage unit we rented to use while our house is being shown.  To be sure that my cat Rusty wasn't underfoot, I moved her to my parents' house last night.

This was a more involved project than you might think.  I had to pack Rusty's litter box, scratching pad, food, dishes, toys, and favorite napping blanket without her noticing; we've moved enough so that she understands what stacks of brown boxes mean, and she's been edgy for days.  She actually caught me moving her toys and crouched next to them defensively for about an hour before giving up and collapsing in her cat bed.  At the last minute I picked her up and cuddled her all the way into the kitchen where I stuffed her into her carrier.  (Barry followed with the bed.)  She howled about my betrayal for the entire 10 miles to Mom and Dad's place.

Once we arrived I unpacked her things and she sulked under the bed for most of the evening.  My mother finally got her to come out by offering her a dish of tuna juice which she deigned to accept.  I  slept over last night and will again tonight to make her feel more secure.

Surprisingly, Mom and Dad said that she was quiet and well-behaved today, spending most of the afternoon in their screened-in porch watching the quail and the bunnies in their backyard.  No howling.  No scratching the carpet.  No tossing of hairballs.  Amazing.

That tuna juice and the porch must have tipped her off to what my sister and I have known for years - our parents' house is the ultimate Kitty Spa, where cats go to be spoiled rotten.  I only hope Rusty is willing to come with me when I find my next place.

“Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.” ~James Herriot