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... and then the ****ing cat


It was an intense move.

I had made the decision to move my son and myself to Oregon, away from his father, my friends and my brother Bob. To a place I had only visited a few times - what was I thinking?

Well, I was thinking I was sick of LA, and I really wanted my son to get to know MY side of the family. They are, of course, much cooler than his father's side. Especially Uncle Jim.

It's comforting now, 10 years later, to know he agrees with me; and that I was right! Not so clear back then though.

So, we move up. Just me at first. I left my son with his father to spend time with his Dad and finish 9th grade.

The first to move was me, Ichabod and Katrina - my Russian Blues.

Ichabod was a character, he was a fetcher. He'd bring me socks and shoes and newspapers. I used to have to carry a laundry basket around to each neighbor's house to return the shoes Ichabod had stolen.
Katrina though, she was a love. She just wanted to cuddle me, sometimes suckling on my ear. God, I loved that cat.

About a month after moving in to the new house and I can't find Katrina.

I searched and searched, I called her name, I put up flyers, I went to shelters. Katrina was gone.

Great, just ****ing great.

The first thing my son will associate with the new house is the loss of a beloved pet. Thanks a lot, Oregon; **** you too.

It's 10 years later now though, and my son knows it and I know it; this move was the absolute best thing for us.

Not so much for the ****ing cat.


DP Veteran
Jul 9, 2010
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Chicago Area
Political Leaning
She was a very friendly little cat who was coaxed too close to a well-meaning neighbor. She was brought inside where she missed you for a good long time. Eventually, though, her new guardians won her over. She's lived a happy little life and is grateful she got to share part of her journey with you.
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