Fun With Felines

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NEW PROMPT:
Write a STORY or POEM about the pains and problems of moving to a new house, COMEDY genre.
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Back in 1981 when I owned a California home in Oakland, burglars broke in one too many times for me to remain in that city. After the police left, my home went on the market the same day. Little did I know what moving to my new place 50 miles up the freeway to Sebastopol would be like.

Friends gathered in Oakland mid-morning on that hot August day to help me move. My half-a-dozen cats were sedated before I parceled them out into various cars, and the trip up the 101 freeway began. Remember, this was before cell phones, and the only way to communicate on that hour-long drive was by the use of car horns.

I drove to the Marin side of the Golden Gate Bridge without a hint of what was ahead of me, or rather behind me. The convoy of seven cars and one U-Haul trailer containing my belongings with my small Fiat in the lead was almost to the Marin/Sonoma county line when car horns blared out in a cacophony of panic. Not knowing what the emergency was, I pulled over to the side of the freeway. One after another, the other cars and trailer parked behind me.

With all the engines off and even over the sound of nearby passing traffic, I could hear loud yowling coming from my various infuriated felines. It seemed the sedatives had worn off, and the uncrated cats were bouncing around inside the various automobiles trying to escape their captivity.

Once I learned what the problem was, I stayed inside behind the steering wheel while one cat after another were carried by my irritated friends to my small, two-door sedan. Each angry animal was tossed onto the back seat through the partially open window. After the last cat was safely inside, the relieved people returned to their now quiet cars. The noise in the Fiat from all six cats swearing in feline was soon joined by a pungent smell as one after another found an even better way to express their anger at me.

Try to picture what the next half hour was like in my small car. I couldn't open a window while driving on the busy freeway for fear a cat would jump out and get hurt or worse. Oh, did I forget to mention that the heater in the rather old car was broken in the ON position and that the car bought back in 1974 had no air conditioning? I swear this was the longest half hour of my life.

By the time our caravan reached my new home up in Sebastopol, I was woozy from both the heat and smell. My ears were ringing from the constant noise, and my right arm had a long bloody scratch. One of my cats must have decided I wasn't suffering enough and tried to join me on the front seat.

After I parked in my new home's driveway, I watched in a daze while the cars and trailer found their own places on the road. For long minutes I sat in numb shock staring out through the windshield at nothing in particular. Quickly realizing I needed help, one kind friend slowly opened the door and grabbed a cat. She was soon followed by the rest of the group doing the same with the remaining animals. Someone else finally leaned into the driver's side of the car and took the house key from my trembling hand. I remained inside the car, trying to regain my sanity, while the cats were carried into the home's back room and left behind a closed door.

Finally on shaking legs, I made my way into my new home vowing never, ever, ever again to move. At least not with animals. I'm still here 33 years later and can almost laugh about it now...almost.