It's so easy to freak out a cat. And I am not talking about doing mean things like filming a poor cat flipping out to find a cucumber sitting behind it, and laughing like a jerk when the cat thinks a snake is about to murder him. I mean much more mundane ways of playing with a feline brain, like rearranging its reality. For the second time this summer, I've emptied out a bunch of cabinets, trying to clean, sort, and replace in a better order. It's a big job, and it takes days to accomplish. (Last time I made a stab at this, I think it took me more than a week. This time I have more human help than before.) It's slow now because we are running every single thing that we're keeping through the dishwasher before putting it back away, no matter how recently anything has been used, and I refuse to put anything away until I scrub the cabinets and put down new spongy shelf liners. It doesn't help me find that sense of everything being clean and sterilized to find that the cabinets have eyes, or that the same feet that walk in the cat box have decided to walk on my new shelf liners. I keep telling the cats that this is all normal, and it doesn't mean that we are moving again, even though we would be right on schedule to do so, if past were prologue. Everyone has become extra needy, and extra agitated. Once the house is back to rights and the discards have been taken to the donation box at the thrift shop, maybe the kids will chill out again.
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