Escaping Boston ... House on Market, Preparing to Transport the Pets

Our house goes on the market March 1 with open houses on the 4th and 11th. Louise, our real estate agent, seems to think it’s going to “go” fast. The idea that we could be homeless in six weeks is daunting.

We have, raked, pruned, clipped, re-landscaped, hosed out, scraped, painted, removed, replaced, re-hung, taken down, re-hung again. We’ve watched every program on HGTV that pertains to selling a house. Isn’t it funny you will do everything you can to sell your home, but not make it perfect while you live in it?

To purge 60 percent of what you have accumulated is liberating and scary at the same time. As I get older, and with the loss of so many family members, there are things and feelings that still need to be felt, to be surrounded by; the sense of being in a warm blanket. 

I’ve kept all of my LPs from the age of 13. (Yes, I do have the complete set of Beatles albums, original, not re-mix. I actually saw them twice in concert. When Paul McCartney divorced Heather Mills, A.F. said, “here’s your chance – Paul’s finally available!"  I’ll leave out the part where she suggested that dating a woman with two legs that didn’t work very well would still be a trade-up for Sir Paul, but I digress.)

A.F. and I sit at night and discuss the logistics of moving our entire life across country. The anxiety skyrockets when we discuss our two cats, Steve and Pywacket, and our Westie, Dinah. At first the thought came to drive across country. Then the reality of having a 16-year-old deaf cat who hasn’t been outside in 16 years howling in the back seat sort of took the fun out of it.

Steve is 15 and built like a tank. He’s twenty pounds of the sweetest cat you’ll ever find. A.F. put a harness on him the other day to take him for a walk to see how much trouble we were really going to be in. He has the gait of a raccoon and it was hard to keep a straight face. The battle was on at the top of the porch stairs. He wasn’t budging and no one could make him. Dinah’s all set. You mention the word “r-i-d-e” and she ties herself into a knot trying to get out the door.

So we have decided to fly. Many drugs will be involved, many, many, many, many, for them — and for us. We’ve decided to do it as quickly as possible: like ripping off a Band-aid. Hopefully it will be fewer traumas for all of us except for the people sitting around us on the plane. I figure considering how much I’ve flown with a screaming baby behind my head everyone can deal for a few hours. Besides, they can’t throw us off at 30,000 feet. Can they?

If anyone has ANY suggestion concerning this endeavor with our pets I would appreciate it.