Move Along...

The years in the Air Force have been good to us; we move just about every three years, and we’ve always had fairly smooth moves. Not much has been broken along the way, just a knob off the dryer that I never used anyway (well, I used the dryer, just not that knob), and once they caved in the side of the washer, but we filed a claim and got that fixed quickly. There was a gouge once in our cheapo entertainment center – that thing was so cheap we didn’t bother filing a claim. Heck, the gouge gave it character.

Every time we’ve moved our belongings have been packed and loaded onto the truck in a reasonable amount of time. The packers usually show up at 9 a.m. and work until 5 or 6 p.m., show up the next day and finish around 3 p.m. The truck shows up the third day and it’s loaded and ready to go by late afternoon. Always very smooth.

This time, it’s payback for all the smooth moves we’ve ever had.

The packers showed up on Friday at a reasonable time, just 15 minutes later than we expected. Both of them. Two people to pack up a 3 bedroom house with a stuffed storage unit in the carport and another storage shed in the back yard. One of them was sick, and they ran out of materials around 3 p.m. So they left.

This morning one single packer showed up, an hour later than we thought they would be. One person. Sigh. Later a second person showed up to help, and then a third; they might get done if they stick around late enough. The Spouse Thingy, who is stuck sitting there keeping an eye on them, doesn’t care, as long as everything gets on the truck tomorrow.

Yep, he’s sitting there and I’m in temporary quarters with the cat. I should be with the dog, too, but we got an apartment (hey, this beats other temp quarters which are usually a single room) on the second floor, and Hank does not do stairs. We don’t know why; it’s not as if we ever threw him down a flight of stairs. He just hates them, he always has, and he won’t go up. He’s too heavy to carry up and down the stairs 4 or 5 times a day, so for now he’s at the house with the Spouse Thingy, and we’re supposedly getting a downstairs place tomorrow. Supposedly. We were supposed to get one today, but whomever is there didn’t leave, and they won’t toss ‘em out so we can have it. Tsk.

Max The PsychoKitty is terrified out of his little head; he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, just that he’s not at home, and not all his People are here with him. He cried all night long, stopping at 5 a.m. when he found a quiet spot under the bed to hide. From the moment I got out of bed at 8 this morning, he’s turned himself into VelcroKitty, sticking to me like maple syrup on a toddler.

He knows I’m a sucker; he knows he can make me feel guilty and that I’ll drop what I’m doing to pay attention to him. He helped me make a TV dinner, and helped me eat it – Swanson’s chicken evidently much better than Fancy Feast Chicken Glop.

The truck comes tomorrow to take all our stuff away, and we should get a downstairs apartment, so we’ll all be together and that’ll make Max happy – until Friday, when we shove him into his carrier and stick him in the truck for the drive across the country.

Poor Kitty.

On the bright side, I got two advanced copies of my book today, which means it’ll be on Amazon and soon… I’ll update my website tonight or tomorrow with the URL for direct ordering from the publisher. I know y’all can’t wait. Heh.

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