Must… Not… Kill… Cat…

So far this move has proven to be the single most traumatic event in my cat’s–his name is Zero–life.

Maybe a little refresher is in order. I picked up Zero for myself back in December of 1999 when I finally got my first apartment that I didn’t have to share with anyone. I’d always told myself that I would get a cat the second it was feasible, and that year proved to be it. Zero was actually a gift from my friend James. He knew that I liked cats, and went down to the SPCA and looked them over, and there was Zero, this very pretty looking half street-half Siamese cat with silvery/white fur, stripes, and blue eyes. He looked for all the world like a miniature white tiger. He also had a stumpy, bent tail. James told me about the cool looking cat he’d seen, and I went down to check it out.

Zero, at the time was sleeping in the cage, and, like most cats, seemed totally oblivious to the world. When I was told his tail damage was actually the result of abuse from his former owners, there was no turning back, I had to have this cat. I brought him home and he promptly spent the first three days hiding under the dresser. The laid back cat at the SPCA turned out to be afraid of EVERYTHING. Not that I minded then, or now. I get a perverse kick out of the fact that he’s so discriminating. It’s kind of nice to think that out of all the people in the world, only me and the Wife are the creatures Zero actually likes.

He does not adjust well to change.

He proved that last night. God knows why, but for some reason as soon as we went to bed, for the first time ever, he started meowing like crazy. He walked up to the door, meowed, walked away, still meowing, and then would be silent just long enough for sleep to slowly settle in, then he would start up again. At one point I went out to see what was up. He stopped meowing as I played with him a little. When I went back in, the meowing started up again. I seriously contemplated sleeping on the couch just so that he would shut up, but the Wife would have none of it.

I’m telling myself that his sudden, bizarre behavior is a direct result of the stress from the move. He’s not the clingy sort of cat, he doesn’t need to be played with or cuddled, but he does need to SEE us. I don’t know why, but even though he’s not a big fan of actually being touched, it’s very important that he be able to see me or the Wife whenever he wants to be reassured. When he doesn’t get it now, he meows.

For the first time ever, I actually found myself wanting to throttle my own cat. I have these fantasies where all I see is a long shot of our apartment building, and then the tiny silhouette of a cat comes careening out the window, screaming “MEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!” all the way down.

Granted, it is the stress of the move, I’m sure, but I am fervently hoping this isn’t some new permanent behavior trait that he’s acquired. Otherwise we’ll never sleep again. Unless we let him sleep with us. Except that he doesn’t sleep at night…