Day 3 - In Which I Flash Back to The Furniture Move

Continuing with this pretense that I've written individual entries for each day of the move, I will now discuss Saturday, where Joe, I and three very obliging friends (do people like to be identified in blogs?  Should I keep them anonymous?  Make up names?  Do you want your name to come up in possible search results from Googling "refinishing floors" and "cats"?)  took the furniture out of the house and put it in our garage and the garages of our obliging neighbors.  My impression of our furniture is that it is light and easy to carry, because I purchased it at a flea market or antique mall and brought it home myself.  That is true, except for the one-third of it that weighs a ton, and is too tall or too wide to fit through our doorways.  I can't quite figure out how those pieces got in our house.  

This was one of the unhappier days for cats, because they were locked in my office to keep them from running out the door while we were struggling with the too wide/too tall cabinets, or getting underfoot and ending up pancaked beneath a television armoire.  For Gromit, such incarceration is torturous on multiple levels.  He has no freedom to do whatever he wants (something he only experiences once every five years), he's stuck in a room with Fidget (whose sneezing upsets him greatly), and he only gets two food servings in a four-hour period, instead of his normal ten to fifteen.  Oddly enough, when I let them out, they both very happily eat their dinner, with no turning up their noses or waiting for me to open multiple cans.  One might assume this means that they shouldn't be getting ten to fifteen meals per day, but of course one assumes many things about cats--that they are the "low maintenance pets", that they can not eat for three or four hours and refrain from spewing out phlegmy bile, that when they rub against you, you can pet them safely without feeling sharp teeth in your hand.  Yes, one can assume.