Travels with Cloe

I hate moving.  Of all the necessary occupations in an adult life, it is by far my least favorite.  This time it was highly necessary.  I left my small urban apartment in exchange for a much larger place in a much smaller town.  My new home is in a town of 1,500.  There are corn fields within in the city limits.  And the pace of life, much slower.

I hate moving, but Cloe, my sixteen year old cat, hates it much more.  She has always, in the eight years of our acquaintance, been a poor traveler.  Usually quiet, she will moan, pace, hiss, and make a horrible un-Cloe sounds.  And she will demand my constant attention; bumping my travel mug of coffee as I sip, and then being surprised when the brown liquid splashes her ears.

There's a thing about pets, their owners usually project something of themselves onto their animals.  You ask most pet owners, and they can put a voice to the reactions of their pets, sometimes with their own accents. My fiancee insists that I have projected my hatred of moving unto Cloe.  Perhaps I have.  I would like to think I have my own proclivity to staying put, being in and creating a "home" where I am, and well, wanting to be comfortable.  And I have always thought my cat shares this home-body spirit.

But this time I may be mistaken.  My normally travel adverse cat slept, SLEPT during our move.  As if she trusted where I was taking her, knowing we would be together at least.  She and I have been on many adventures so far in our time together, this one was just one more.  Perhaps I should have as much trust as she.