Cake and Boo trying to look innocent.
Traveling across the country with two cats and an infant is an adventure. Most cats, mine included, do not like car rides and do not like to be put in carriers. For the past several states, Cake, a gray tiger cat, has been hiding under the bed in the morning, in an effort to avoid her carrier. Being underneath the center of a large bed necessitates clever contortion and acrobatics in order to get her out. Boo, the larger calico, has been more pliant, as she generally is. As I put her into the carrier, she tries to block the entrance with her paws, but when she realizes that she is going to lose the battle, she allows herself to be pushed inside.
When it was time to leave Chicago, and we were doing the dance of one person taking care of the cats and baby while the other loaded the car, Boo disappeared. We looked under the beds. We looked in the bathroom. I ran outside, calling her name. The hotel staff had doors open across the side of the building as they cleaned the rooms. There was a highway behind the hotel, a road in front of it, and businesses on either side. Frantically, I ran into every open door and looked under every bed. Then I ran around both buildings, calling Boo’s name. Then into the parking lots nearby and along the perimeter of the highway. The longer I looked for the cat, the less pretty my imagination became.
After nearly two hours of frantic looking, we had to face the possibility that we would not find the cat. It would be difficult to stay another night in the hotel. Once we had nabbed Cake from under the bed, we would have to leave. So, I stuck my head under the bed as far as I could to see if I could make a grab for her. While I was wedged under the bed, I noticed there was a bulge hanging down from the box spring. I pushed on it, and it was soft. I pushed again, and it meowed. There was Boo, hiding inside the bed.
Packing for a big move, especially for such a long distance, is a challenge. The more belongings to move, the bigger the cost, with a higher price tag for furniture. Before the movers came, we did some downsizing. The second bedroom, as of late the baby’s room, housed five large book cases. Some of the shelves were doubled up with books. There were also a few boxes of books that had yet to be unpacked from the last move.
It had previously been my policy not to get rid of books. What if I wanted to return to the book later? Or copy a passage to teach in class? If I gave it away, I would be in quite a bind. In reality, there are very few books that I return to and with the internet and the efficiency of ILL (Interlibrary Loan), I could find almost anything I needed for class within seconds, or at most, a few days. I had no actual need for all of the books. But when I started to think about giving them away, I felt a little threatened, as though I was endangering myself by giving them away, because what if I did end up needing them? The logic of the situation had nothing to do with the thin fear that crept in.
I often feel this way when it is time to thin out my belongings, whether it is a skirt I will clearly never be small enough to wear or the hand mixer that was given to me five years ago and never used. While I have no need for these things, it pains me to let them go.
In the end, I parted with a good many things, including several boxes of books and many unused things. For the few seconds I am troubled when I give things away, almost always, I forget by the end of the day and never remember that it is gone, let alone lament no longer possessing it. Letting go of a loved one is a completely different experience. When I had to put my sick, elderly dog down I was devastated. I cried every day for over a month. It broke my heart all over again when the cats waited by the door for the dog’s return.
Intellectually, I know that possessions are just things. Usually, they are not unique, and can be replaced, often at not too great of a cost. Loved ones, like a cat or a dog, or even more so in the case of a friend or relative, are not replaceable. “Losing” Boo was a reminder of just what it means to lose something I truly care about. As was saying goodbye to so many people we care about. We will be able to visit in the future, and we can keep in touch, but we will no longer have the close, physical intimacy that we once did. It was a powerful reminder at minimal cost.
We have now been through PA, OH, IN, IL, and are stopping over in Madison, WI. We have several more states to go, but we are making progress. May the rest of the journey be relatively painless, and everyone who got into the car in Philly leave it safe and sound in Portland.
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