On the move

On Sunday morning my housemate and I were busy packing in anticipation of the movers' arrival, and Fig took advantage of our distraction to slip out the pet gate, which we had left slightly ajar, to finally explore the cul-de-sac that he had been monitoring from the front porch all summer. Already in a mild state of panic at the prospect of not being completely packed before the movers came, my anxiety shot to new heights when I discovered Fig was missing. He had never been allowed to roam freely, and since he takes steroids he is more susceptible to infections. What if we don't find him? We are moving today, out of the area, and no one will be here to let him in if he finds his way home! I may never see him again! I felt as if I couldn't breathe, and my heart was pounding wildly as I walked up and down the street, walking behind houses, peering under neighbors' porches, all the while calling for Fig. Then I saw him - a flash of black and white bounding between houses at the end of the street - before he disappeared again. I called to my housemate, hoping the two of us could corner him, but he was not to be seen. I resumed my search and after some time my housemate called that he had found him. Joyfully I headed to where he was standing, expecting to see my beloved Fig cradled in his arms, only to learn that Fig was hiding deep in a corner under a neighbor's porch. Flashlights, broom handles, and all nature of cajoling did not budge him from his sanctuary, but eventually the sound of a packet of cat treats being opened lured him out, and we were reunited with Fig.

His moments of freedom were followed by some hours confined in his crate, let out only at short intervals to use the litterbox or get a drink, until we were at the new house and I could set up a space for him. As he has done in previous moves, Fig handled the change with more equanimity than I did, acting as if this was part of his daily routine.

In the past few days he has thoroughly explored his new home, which is much larger than the previous house. He has been more affectionate and playful, too, as though the stimulation of new sights, sounds, and smells is bringing out his inner Fig. Like people, cats are unique in the way they deal with changes. Some hide under the bed for days and refuse to eat. Others try to run back to what is familiar. And some, like my friend Fig, eagerly explore their new envionment and joyfully embrace it as their own. In the midst of a life rife with transitions on many fronts, I aspire to Fig's grace.