Moving Sucks!

Dear Diary,

My life is horrible and awful. Every three years I’m shoved into a carrier where I’m left for hours and hours with no food or water and it’s all because of Boy-Dadda and his ridiculous need to follow someone called “The Navy” around all over the place.

This last move was by far the worst. First, Momma took the minions away – which wasn’t so bad. I’ve been begging her to send them away for years. Except this time, she went with them and didn’t come back. Then, after a couple of weeks, Boy-Dadda lured Little Missy and I into our carriers. He drove for hours before stopping at a boarding place for animals. Animals! Can you believe that? I’m not an animal. I’m a cat. There’s a HUGE difference. 

We were shoved into a large cage surrounded by other cats as wells as the echoing sounds of whining-asshole dogs.

One week later. ONE WEEK LATER!!!!!! Momma came and picked me and Little Missy up. She could’ve left Little Missy for all I cared, but whatever. She showed up. Then we were put into Boy-Dadda’s truck where – once again – we were left for hours and hours and hours. Finally, we arrived at a place called a hotel. Except there was a problem. When Boy-Dadda made the reservations he forgot to inquire about whether or not they were a “pet-friendly” establishment. First we’re animals. Now we’re pets. Really?

Momma made the executive decision to sneak us in because it was only for one night. So what did they do? The put us on this large luggage thing and dumped a bunch of blankets and light-weight bags on us. At least I now have proof that I get dumped on a lot.

Boy-Dadda made a few trips to the car to retrieve other luggage pieces and our litter box. Once the litter box was set up, Little Missy and I were released from our confines. All I wanted to do was hide. I saw the bed and made a bee-line for it. I lowered my head so I could get underneath it and ran right into something hard. Apparently some prevert thought it would be a good idea to put some kind of box around the bed so no one could get underneath it.

Might have been nice if someone had told me that. I bounced backwards and was startled. I looked around. Momma saw me and said, “Don’t worry. Nobody saw you bonk your head.”

Relieved, I ran into the bathroom, looking for a hiding place. And what did I find? The Little Thing’s Minion was sitting on the potty. She saw me and started screaming, “It’s Gwennie! Get her away from me!”

I don’t know why she’s so afraid of me. I’ve only slapped her twice in her life.

Momma screamed back at her. “Be quiet! We don’t want the hotel to know we have cats in here!”

The next day we arrived at our final destination. I was so excited to have a place to hide. Except there was one problem. The furniture hadn’t been delivered yet. Fortunately, there were plenty of cupboards to hide in and believe me, I did.

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I’d like to submit the above video as proof that Momma does not – in fact – know how to knock. Or take a decent video either.

Well, Diary, that’s all for now. I hope to submit another entry soon. But who knows if that will ever happen. Momma is selfish and cruel. She believes everything is about her and what she wants to write. I don’t think anyone really appreciates the challenges that cats, like me, face on a daily basis.

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Sincerely,

Gwennie