Every once in a while, Devon and I do a ridiculous number of things at once to make our lives as stressful as possible. Currently, we are selling my father’s house, moving from NYC to Denver, CO, and having a baby. I’m not having the baby right at this moment. I’m only 16 weeks, but the way these things work is that if all goes well, I’ll split open like a pinata and a small, barely formed human will pop out. Kind of like this pic, but with less candy and more screaming.
And this is if things go well.
The summary for anyone just catching up: My mother died in 2009 of colon cancer. My father died in 2011 from a combination of wonky intestines, a prostate that just didn’t give a crap anymore, a heart condition and Alzheimer’s. A bunch of other awful shit happened with my family, but the details are kind of blurry and vague, which is probably for the best. I’m the executrix of my father’s will. I spent last year in a legal battle with my half-brother over the will, because he thought he was entitled to some shit he wasn’t. I settled with him just to make it be over, and now I have finally sold Dad’s house. Closing is Aug. 30. Devon and I are also leaving for Colorado at the end of August, but I’ll be popping back and forth from Colorado to New York to handle things as needed.
Also, I have to pee all the time.
Oddly, the most stressful part of this whole move has been getting my cats to Denver. It’s stupid expensive to use a door-to-door air transport service. We were willing to pay for ground transport, except the truck can’t pick up the furballs before we leave. And they need health certificates dated 10 days before they leave if traveling by air, 10 days before they arrive if traveling by land and 5 days before they arrive if traveling by wormhole. And they need rabies shots. And they need carriers that meet the International Air Transport Association’s guidelines for pet travel, which are extensive. Many airlines have their own guidelines on top of those guidelines just to piss me off. Seriously. Delta’s rules said, “Monica Jones, fuck you.”
I’m trying to not be a jerk. I’m glad there are standards for how animals are transported, but this has been a giant pain in the ass.
Ultimately, I’ll be flying with Sahrah in the cabin, and The Fatass (she has a name with an article because she’s THAT awesome) will fly in cargo. The Fatass has a history of explosive diarrhea when she’s confined, so this is best for everyone.
The Fatass might not fly at all if the temperature on the runway is above 84 F, which is a possibility at the end of August. In that case we’ll have to figure out something else. As long as this trip doesn’t end with my cat dead or lost, I’ll be happy.