Wish me luck. In exactly T minus, oh, 18 minutes, I have to try and shove one very angry and hateful cat and one more cat who very much has no idea what's going on into one large Pet Taxi.

This is a problem for two reasons: the first reason being Chicken. The second reason being Chicken.

Chicken became skeptical Wednesday night when I began hauling out the boxes and stacking my belongings in the corner. In Chicken's short life she's already learned that boxes mean, "The stupid bee-yatch is moving again, therefore I will continue to hate her for the rest of my days."

In less than five years Chicken has been transported to new homes about 11 times. And that is not an exaggeration. And I wonder why she hides in dark places and broods. She's like a poor foster child.

This morning she did a fine job of both hiding and also glaring at me from said hiding spot. Every once in a while she'd remove herself from her hiding spot to give me a dirty look. She knows what's coming.

What I'd like for you to do, right now, is stand up and spread your arms and legs as wide as you can. Got it? OK, now, try and stuff yourself into a two-foot-by-two-foot space. Yeah. Not gonna happen. This is the maneuver Chicken has learned in order to keep her self from being held captive in a Pet Taxi. I imagine it's a lot like what it would be to shove a baby back in after childbirth.

So, well, we'll see how it goes tonight. Of course, once I get her in the Pet Taxi, I have to let her out in the new apartment, and she's going to wish I had somehow died a vile death before I ever let any of this happen to her, so help her God.

Oh, Chicken.

krittabug