Cats love moving. Not. NOT!

Cats do not particularly like change. Cats are not particularly big fans of moving house. Zoë, who turns ten years old right around today, will soon have lived in four different provinces in her relatively short life. She is not impressed.

She does admit to one upside to moving, however:
PACKING PAPER!

"OOOooooooOOO, crinkly! With many possibilities for hiding within it. I LIKE IT. Am I not deliciously beautiful? Would butter not melt in my mouth? Hell, would a freshly-killed rodent not melt in my mouth?"

"Mummy Cat, you can act like nothing is going on, holding me upside-down and smiling at Daddy Cat, but I know it's a big fat lie. We're moving. I can tell from the mountains of boxes. I can tell from the packing paper. I can tell because you keep telling Daddy you're going to have aneurysm. I think I will go express my own conflicted emotions by peeing in your bathtub. Oh, and on your favourite pair of leopard-print Birkenstocks. Yes, that makes it much, MUCH better. And if you could throw my brother Julius (aka Agent Orange) off a bridge, I would be ever so grateful."

While Zoë lies comatose in her arms, Mummy Cat takes a self-portrait and tells herself she can always buy another pair of leopard-print Birkenstocks, but there is only one Zoë.

(Oh yeah, like that makes it all better! By the way, Odormute is fantastic stuff, but it doesn't work on cat-urine-impregnated cork. What Mummy really needs is a strong cup of tea. Or perhaps a stiff drink. Or maybe a trip to the South Pacific. Got that, Daddy Cat?)