My suspicions were first aroused when she dragged a suitcase out of the closet and set it, open, on the floor.
"Oh, oh," I thought. "This does not bode well. This smells to me of Going Away!"
Now, I am a reasonable cat, but a creature of habit. I dislike disruptions to the normal rhythm of my life. Experience has taught me that suitcases on the floor, smelling of Going Away, are forerunners to disturbing disruptions.
From my perch on the bed I watch her antics with a jaundiced eye
"What should I take, Casper?' she asks me, distractedly, rummaging in the closet.
"Is it going to be Springy, (pretty chilly by Florida standards,) or still bloody freezing ? Should I pack jeans and fleeces, or T-shirts and capris, or boots and a woolly coat ?"
I lift one eyebrow.
"Oh, you're right," she says. "I don't even own a pair of boots! My closet is not bloody-freezing friendly!"
I maintain a haughty silence. She is not going to draw me into conversation about Going Away in an effort to assuage her guilt. Being a more evolved species, I don't have to worry about what to pack, if and when I go away. I'm always perfectly dressed for any occasion, whatever the weather.
"Oh, come on Casper!" she says coaxingly. "Don't sulk! You'll have a lovely vacation down at school with the Bean."
While it's true that I love chilling with the Bean (he's my best bud), getting to his place at school gives one pause. Usually they have to play a trick on me. They open the window in the small bathroom, where I love to sit on the sill and spy on the birds, and after I'm lured in by the birdsong, snap! They shut the door. Too late I spot the cat cage on the floor! Tricked! I am then unceremoniously stuffed into this cage and carried to the garage. My wails of protest go unheeded....
"Oh hush your noise, Fuzzy Britches," they say, "You know you'll love it when you get there!"
And I do. I love nothing better than sitting nearby while the Bean studies for some exam or other. I purr in solidarity as he mutters darkly about professors, and quiz grades, and some qualification they all have---Piled-Higher-and-Deeper, I think he calls it. It's all Greek to me. I just purr to let him know whatever the battle, I'm on his side. And then there's the scratching and the wrestling, which I always enjoy, and sorely miss when I'm at home and he's at school.
She's the kind of packer who works better under pressure. So she decides to suspend operations. She has now decided to let the packing question marinate in her brain juices while she sleeps. But first a cup of cocoa. Somehow that always seems to calm her.
"And anyway," she says to me, as I follow her to the kitchen, hoping to guilt her into an extra helping of kibble, "We've all seen the OC pack. Five minutes, tops! If he can do it so can I!"
Absentmindedly, she pours some kibble into my bowl, though not too much (she's always worrying about my waistline.) I arch my back, curl my handsome (if I do say so myself) tail over my head, and head butt her leg as gracefully as it is possible to head butt some one's leg, and finally she remembers and bends over and scratches me behind the ear. Then I turn the other ear and lean in, to maximize the benefits of this little service I have trained her to provide. Then, satisfied for now, I turn my attention to the kibble.
At least I can look forward to some entertainment tomorrow as she scatters around like a mad woman, flinging random clothing items into the suitcase at the last minute and scattering out the door, in a scramble to get to the airport on time...... While I spit and hiss in the back of the Beanmobile on my way to what I know, after I get there, will be a nice change of pace, hanging with my Bean every day for a whole week. Ah bliss!
Now, if only I had opposable thumbs so I could shove that suitcase under the bed, and not have to fret all night about the tricks that will be played in the morning!