Not sure who was more stressed out during our trip across the country, me or the cat
Picture this: a woman in her mid-30’s, standing by the luggage carousel at Westchester County Airport, with a cat in a bag strapped over her shoulder, sobbing openly. Two plane-loads of people milling about, waiting for their own luggage, casting furtive glances. Even the cat, who had had a rough go herself, had finally fallen silent.
I can only imagine the thoughts or questions that go through people’s minds when they see something like this in public. I’m assuming it’s more common in airports than in other locations, but I think most people are able to quell their tears until they are in a more private location. That has never been a gift of mine.
A newly adopted kitten, helping me grade papers
I had just gotten to the end of a journey I had been dreading. I had anxiety about moving my cat since it first crossed my mind. In fact, I probably put off making plans like this numerous times before because the cat got in my way. I had made a commitment to her when I adopted her. I was to be her mom and she and I would be companions. I don’t like reneging on commitments, which is why I hesitate to make them until I am sure about them. And this one took its toll. Every time I looked at her, I was wracked with guilt.
Additionally, she is an AWFUL traveler. Every trip to the vet is a torture experiment that involves a lot of screaming and expelling of fluids from all feline orifices. Not a pleasant experience for either of us. Last time, she soiled herself before I even got her to the car. And forget about when we moved to my current apartment. She, a cat who never has an accident, squatted in the closet and made eye contact with me as she screamed and peed. Not a good look. And that was only a four-mile move. I couldn’t imagine how this move across the country would go. In a plane.
The vet had given me some drugs to give her to calm her down, and I did a trial run with them the week before. I was a little surprised to see that they weren’t tranquilizers but anti-anxiety meds. So she was fully alert, just slightly more chill than usual. This would not be enough, I thought.
Nube actually hanging in her carrier during the drug test run
I lined her carrier with puppy pads and a towel I was willing to dispose of. I packed an extra shirt for me, extra rags, extra puppy pads, and a plastic bag to put soiled things in. Stress was at an all-time high as I prepared to take her away (the amount of times my realtor has seen or heard me cry is now just getting indecent).
She did surprisingly well, most of the time. She cried a lot and didn’t sleep. But she wasn’t screaming or panicking. Even the level of soiling wasn’t too bad. She didn’t puke, she wasn’t panting excessively. A few turds escaped (one on the floor of airport security when I took her out, oops), but it wasn’t bad.
In the middle of the second flight, however, I think the pills must have worn off. She had some moments of screaming and thrashing around violently in her carrier. I’m assuming this is when she peed. But again, compared to what I thought it was going to be like, it really wasn’t that bad.
So why, then, did I find myself sobbing in front of the baggage claim?
As the plane began to descend, it started to hit me. This particular move, taking my cat out of our Colorado home and dropping her off in Connecticut, is the first real “no looking back” step of this whole process. Until now, in the planning phase, it has still been just that: a plan. Now it is all starting to take shape. As I walked out the door and into my Lyft to the airport, my realtors were in my place getting it ready to show.
Adjusting surprisingly well to life in Connecticut
For most of this process, I’ve been excited, aware of the things I will miss but knowing that things are fluid and an uncertain future brims with limitless possibilities. Recently, however, I’ve found myself digging in my heels. I’ve brewed up a lot of complicated feelings about leaving, and I’m sure they will only intensify as the clock ticks on and more and more irreversible milestones are hit.
But, as people keep reminding me, irreversible is just a concept. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing is permanent. If, in the deep depths of my heart, I decide I want to return to Denver, I CAN. Maybe it will be a little less affordable once I sell my apartment, but it’s still possible. Anything is possible.
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