A treatise on concluding pet ownership

We're going to be moving sometime in the next couple of months. Unfortunately, the place we will be moving into is not pet friendly. I have known this was coming for some time, in fact, I have been preparing myself for it. Sometime soon, the kitties will be going to different homes.

The creepy thing is that I believe the cats understand this on some level and have altered their behavior accordingly. It's been at least four days since Gilbert last shat upon the carpet.

And Stewie, who only loves Andy, has taken to jumping up on my lap and prancing around. Almost as if to say, "Behold the soft gray glory that is my fur. Hear the beauteous squeak of my voice. You will miss it, yes? Are you truly prepared to allow the magnitude of these gifts to be enjoyed by someone else?"

Luckily, they can never go too long without reverting back to unsavory behavior. Take for instance, the other night. Directly after one of these guilt trips, Stewie hopped down off my lap and horked an esophagus shaped 4 inch long mass of compressed cat food and hair onto the carpet. Gilbert, ever unstable of intestine, witnessed this and horked a pile of his own nearby. Perhaps this is the cat equivalent of a pissing contest.

In any case, I feel horrible about it. And I feel even worse for not feeling horrible about it. I know I won't cry about not scooping cat boxes, not lint rolling an angora sweater worth of fur off my coat every morning, not sharing my bed with three cranky furry bodies, and not cleaning squishy piles of vomit and worse off the carpet.

I will miss the little boogers though.

Cyndi