The youngest cat is ticked. He's strutting and squawking making sure there is no question as to his deep displeasure.
The other two are withdrawing into themselves and the Lab is nothing less than despondent.
I couldn't help it. I had to...
The only way to leave tomorrow is to pack the suitcases today.
Smokie, the Lab, really hates suitcases. The last time we were gone it was either two days or 58 years. She can never keep that straight.
She's posted herself like a bearskin rug -- chin, tail, belly and legs flat to the floor -- next to the piles of linens and folding chairs to take to the cottage. Only her big brown eyes move in silent pleading each time I enter the room.
This is the end of the earth as she knows it. If she stays perfectly still, perhaps we will mistake her for an 80 pound pillow that sheds badly and pack her.
Little Bit, the active cat, takes a frentic role. He threads himself between my legs with each step producing some level of vocalization that he believes to be a clear and convincing argument.
Nobody cleared this with them.
How could we have chosen to bring them into our home if we weren't willing to take them along?
How can we call ourselves human?
What have they ever done to deserve this?
It will get progressively worse until the moment the last suitcase is loaded in the car.
Within a few hours Anne or Christophe will be by with the kids to feed them.
It will be a glorious new day. They'll eat and play and continue to enjoy each ensuing day in the same way.. right until the moment our car pulls into the driveway.
When they will resume their positions of mourning and misery.
They understand being consistent is very important if we are ever going to be be appropriately trained.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs