Lilly is completely traumatized about the moving boxes, the suitcases, the emptying of drawers, the relocation of furniture (all clearly signs of the apocalypse, as far as she's concerned). It started yesterday evening. I started taking down the drapes, it made her nervous, she puked. Then I pulled my biggest suitcase out from the back of the closet, and started packing up all my sweaters. One glimpse of the suitcase and she puked again. The poor thing has probably lost two pounds in the past 24 hours. Her day is an endless cycle of shedding, puking, running under the bed, and looking up at me and crying the most helpless meow you've ever heard. She's totally stressing. Over what, I'm not sure, because I've moved with her before and she made it out alive then. I'll never know what goes on between those little pink ears.
Sterling, on the other hand, thinks this new game is fun. Every time I open up a new box, he climbs in. I'm half expecting him to yell "Surprise!" at some point. When I make a pile of something (shirts, towels, books, papers, dishes), he jumps to the top of it and balances precariously for a minute until I gasp or shriek (depending on the items in the pile) and then he jumps off, runs around the apartment, and waits for the game to start again. He hasn't noticed that the drapes have come down, has no idea what large suitcases signify, and could care less if my books have been put in boxes. As long as there's still a box around for him to jump into. And out of. And into. And out of. Oh look -- something shiny! Oh look -- Lilly is making that face that means she's only pretending to be asleep and wants me to pounce on her! Weeeeeee! Moving is fun!
The best part of my day today was spent watching the cats process me moving the full length mirror out of the bathroom. I carried it out (not without tripping over Sterling, obviously) and set it on its side by the stairs. Sterling sat in front of it and played a nice little game of patty-cake with the totally awesome gray cat on the other side, who wanted to play as much as he did (imagine that). He's more of a live-in-the-moment kind of guy, unbothered by the fact that the mirror has now appeared in the living room, and just happy to have something to amuse himself for the next few minutes.
Lilly, on the other hand, was deeply suspicious, and took a break from her puking and crying to investigate. She paced back and forth in front of the mirror, eyeing the cats inside, sizing them up. She touched noses with the little white cat (who, she has always thought, is awfully pretty), and then walked around back to see if she could find her. Nope, cat was gone. Then she came back around the front and sat staring at the little white cat for a while. Suddenly, it dawned on her where she's seen that cat before, and she turned and ran into the bathroom (confirming once again that Lilly is indeed the brains of this operation). I waited a minute to see how this was going to unfold, then heard her pathetic wailing commence again. Not only am I taking down drapes and putting things in boxes and taking out the giant suitcase, but the cat in the bathroom is gone. Clearly, the cat in the bathroom knows about the apocalypse too, and has fled for higher ground.
Normally I would just chalk this all up to the fact that Lilly is crazy (and Sterling isn't exactly a thinker), but she may be on to something this time. We had thunder snow this evening (huge snowflakes falling from the sky, accompanied by thunder and lightening. Lilly damn near had a heart attack getting herself under the bed as fast as possible, decided that wasn't safe enough, and retreated to her bomb shelter in the back of the closet). She may be right. Thunder snow? Seriously? Is the apocalypse coming?