Stories that moved me.

"Meow."

I turned around in my bed, propped one eye open to check out the time. 2:10 in the morning. Yeck.

"Meow."

"Meow."

"Meow."

The sounds of the plaintiff caterwauling echoed through the new apartment on our second night. And, I seemed to be the only one awake enough to hear it.

Our cats are quite different, when it comes to moving. Haley, our grizzled female, could care less. She kind of reminds me of a feline version of Rosie O'Donnell. Have food, will travel.

Oliver, on the other hand, is one big orange bundle of nerves. I think it was all that drama associated with his pink noodle about a year or so ago. Ever since then, he associates any change, especially any change involving transportation in a car, with the vet, and starts to freak out.

The minute Corb started deconstructing the old apartment on Thursday, Ollie scrambled under the nearest bed. That night, he didn't come out until supper.

Friday, as we started the actual moving process, was even more traumatic for him. To cope, he managed to find a hiding spot in the little bedroom. He just cowered in that spot, like an ostrich in the sand, trying to ignore the chaos taking place around him.

He was still hiding when Corb went back to the old apartment pick up some additional boxes at around three, after the movers had moved all the heavy stuff, which didn't include fluffy orange cats. Corb couldn't find him anywhere.

He was still missing in action at around seven, when I went back to feed the cats. As a temptation, I started to shake a drag of dry food, which is usually something that gets him to rush to my side and run up against my legs. Not this time.

That's when I started to get worried. What if he had managed to sneak out while the movers were there?

I started to look all over the apartment, calling out his name. I finally discovered him, wrapped up in a white comforter, when totally by accident, I lifted it up and shook it. Oliver tumbled out, looking more than a little annoyed.

Even then, he took one look at his food, sniffed, and walked away.

I decided to take pity on him and let the cats have one last night in the apartment.

Saturday night, that changed. It was time to get them to the new place. So, we bundled Hayley in a blanket and put Oliver in a cat carrier, and started to make the move. Ashes sat next to Oliver the entire way, stroking his paws and whispering words of encouragement.

And after all of that, how are we rewarded for these acts of kindness?

"Meow."

"Meow."

"Meow."

I turned around in my bed and propped one eye open to check out the time. 5:10 in the morning.

Well, at least Corb was rewarded. He ended up with a good night's sleep, and the comfort of knowing his pumas were home.

###

"Ted, what have you done, here?"

I looked up from the book I was reading in our bed and smiled. Corb was standing beside the Expedit TV unit that he had purchased from Ikea--basically a black grid of 20 cubes surrounding a space for our television.

He spent the time putting it together. I was responsible for surrounding it with stuff.

"I decorated it," I said. "That's what you asked me to do, right?"

Corb held up a copy of "Your Heiress Diary," by Paris Hilton, which had been given a place of honor in one cube. "You call this a decoration?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
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