The cat misses the Boy and his Significantly Better Half. Not only did he blog about it, he’s taken to looking for them. In the middle of the night. Several times a night.
The little furball has made sure I haven’t had uninterrupted sleep since they left. He stands in the hallway outside the bedroom doors, hollering his little head off three or four times a night, and doesn’t stop until I tell him to shut up already (no, I am not polite to the cat at 3 a.m. when he’s being a PITA.) I think no matter how long he goes without seeing the Boy, he remembers him, and he misses him when he’s not here.
And having had the Boy here for 3 weeks has made us miss living closer to him that much more—enough so that amongst the discussions of Where To Live Post Retirement the notion of forgoing the much higher pay Ohio has to offer the Spouse Thingy and going back to CA has popped up. More than once.
We’ve vacillated a lot. Stay here. Try Las Vegas, with comparable pay and cost of living (plus no state income tax.) Go back home to CA and take an extra year or two to pay off all our bills. We have time to make a decision—heck, up to the last month or so, I think—so nothing is decided, but the lure of being closer to the Boy is stronger than the lure of money.
Moving would mean selling my convertible.
Moving would mean 5 days stuck with a screaming PsychoKitty in a car.
Moving might mean never really being debt free.
I could get another convertible someday.
The cat would survive, as much as he’d want the world to believe we’re torturing him.
Money isn’t everything.