Post Friday Beast Blogging: The “Kubler-Ross Does Cats” Edition

As soon as the suitcases come out, the household’s quadrupedal contingent immediately launches into the Five Stages of Grief.  Here’s a taste of what we had to deal with while preparing to depart for New Orleans…
Cat:  Riley
Stage:  Denial

Riley toughs it out by adopting the posture of a penitentiary lifer, hanging her arms through the bars and making obscene kissing noises as the New Meat arrives on the cellblock.

Cat:  Moondoggie
Stage:  Bargaining

“I’ll stop pouting when you stop packing.”

Posted by scott on Saturday, November 29th, 2008 at 12:08 am

Hodge would have been in the suitcases. Repeatedly. And probably in New Orleans by now.

Left by Slywy on November 29th, 2008

one stage you wont see from them is acceptance

Left by distributorcap on November 29th, 2008

I’m not sure I’d want to see anger…

Left by actor212 on November 29th, 2008

Mehitabel the Abyssinian has taught me that Kubler-Ross’s delineation of grief should be expanded to include “Throwing up on the pillow”.

Left by herr doktor bimler on November 29th, 2008

And, I should add, do you really think they grieve that you’re going to be gone? Really? Wait ’til you get home to the party mess they’ve left . . .

Left by Slywy on November 29th, 2008

My cats become excited when they see me packing, because I leave the bathtub faucet dripping for them to drink, and they love it. I’m always fearful they’ll die of thirst, even tho I’m seldom gone more than 2 nights. Anyhow, the kittys like it when I go away, they can sleep on my pillow, stay up all night drinking from the tap, poop in the laundry room if they want to…its a vacation for them!

Left by Kathy on November 30th, 2008

Our being gone means that Riley can’t come into my office and scream for affection whenever she feels like it, or Moondoggie can’t approach by stealth while I’m typing, leap deftly onto my lap, and begin gnawing on my chin.
So while I harbor no illusions that we’re missed, our absence does upset their routine. And yes, I’m sitting at the gate in New Orleans, already dreading the mid-80s hair band trashing they’ve given the apartment.

Left by scott on November 30th, 2008

Affection? Are you mistaking “affection” with “food”? For Hodge, I’m just a meal ticket. Feh.

Left by Slywy on November 30th, 2008

I wanna see the “welcome home” hairballs when you walk in the door. C’mon, you can’t gross-out cat people, we’ve seen it all.
And they will miss you, ’cause they always miss the servants. Having to get up and walk over to the food bowl all by themselves, it’s positively barbaric for the modern cat. We must obey our feline overlords, or they’ll off us in our sleep. We all know it, we just don’t say it. They know exactly where the jugular is, after all. All of that “affectionate” grooming isn’t affection or even feline hygiene; it’s them mapping out our vital vessels.
Plus, after they’ve gone a day or so without on-demand attention/petting/affection/servitude, they’re going to get to the “pissed as hell” part of the grieving process. I hope that you’re not terribly attached to your current furniture. I’ve learned to live without a lot of things in the past 11 years.

Left by Anntichrist S. Coulter on November 30th, 2008

Upon my return, Mousie-Mouse commences the deliberate snubbing. She waltzes into the room and stares at me until she has my complete undivided. Then she pointedly turns her back. The length of time she won’t speak to me is commensurate with the length of the trip. Souvenirs do not placate her.

Left by Toni on December 1st, 2008

And yes, I’m sitting at the gate in New Orleans, already dreading the mid-80s hair band trashing they’ve given the apartment.
Are you kidding? Spandau Ballet only picked out the green M&Ms!
Now, for real room trashing, you have to go back to the prog rock bands of the 70s!

Left by actor212 on December 1st, 2008