Moving Out

I recently moved out of my old childhood house. Yes, I'm aware all the jokes that can be thrown around for a 20-something who lives in their mom's basement; the recluse who only plays Dungeons and Dragons, the loner who fears sunlight, the post grad who was just too lazy to look around his new city for an apartment.

...Oh wait.

While I won't pretend to be as cool as the first two of these people, I will pretend vouch that moving is hard. When did I ever accumulate so much stuff?! While packing up, the amount of times I said, "I'm definitely going to use this at my new house." could have paid my rent if excuses were nickels. Can they be dollars? Because then I could just buy a house. Or a dog. Or a car that doesn't shake on the freeway.

The bags began to pile up and eventually I realized that this was going to be a two car trip. Maybe more. MORE. As having graduated, I had also graduated into this weird phase of adulthood that meant your life could no longer fit into a station wagon. Gone were the days when I had a suitcase, a couple garbage bags, and a laundry hamper strewn about the insides of my car while my cat frantically ran about the car while simultaneously clawing my face.

In hindsight, I should have put him in a carrier.

That was another dilemma of moving around because what about the children!? 

I had an agreement with my mother that my cat wouldn't live at her house indefinitely and I finally lived up to that promise (Because part of me wasn't so sure because she just loves him sooooooooooooooo much.
"Ryan, when are you taking your cat."
"Uh, I have to go organize socks at a different place now."

 "Ryan, your cat has been here for a couple years now, can you take him away? Because he's annoying."
"Don't lie, you li--,"
 "Nope, nope. No, Absolutely not."

"Now that you're moving out, can you take that dang cat out of this house?"
"But he's going to miss chewing on your couch!").

After the bulk of my essentials were put into my new place, I finally decided to pack up the one living thing that I own and introduce him to his new roommate (Since Beth has a cat as well. We are basically fusing into one old cat lady.) The moment that I pulled out the crate, Kitten knew that something was up. A small chase ensued between me trying to get the cat, the dog trying to get the cat, and the cat trying to crawl into any small space available.

She's not as innocent as she appears. Underneath the fluff is a small psychopath.

Eventually we were able to come to a compromise where I had to fanagle* his limbs into the crate  while I forced the dog outside. We were all a little upset.

Having moved before, I figured that Kitten was going to have an easy adjustment to his new living quarters. He had his poop box, his scratching post, and food bowl. Who knew that suddenly getting laminate floors would cause a meltdown. I imagine, though, that if I woke up and someone had redone my entire house while also adding a new person to the living situation, I would be a little frightened.

"Ryan, get out from under the bed!"

"No! It's safe in here, they can't get us!"

"But there's food and a bathroom out here."

"I can hold it! And there's a random person out there! Who is that!?"

"We've been friends for awhile, why can't you just accept that he's going to be living with us now?"

"MY LIFE IS OVER."

That was basically his reaction.

I've since coaxed him out of his living situation while sporadically adding a couple more things to my pile of, "I'll definitely use this." while never accepting that I can let any article of clothing go (because what if bleach stains and zombie apocalypse and thieves?). As the old house grows emptier, the other one starts to feel less like a mess and more like a home. 

Let's see where we can go from there.

*Fanagle: The act of twisting different limbs or objects in order to fit them into an enclosed space. Also works with trying to fix iPhones, bookshelves, and making cookies. I.e.: insert it into any meaning you find appropriate.