Well, the move happened. And surprisingly, we are unpacked and finally ready to enjoy our new home. My girl is back in Chapel Hill finishing out her work commitments (she will be here for a few weeks before heading to college in late August). The guys are at the movie theater seeing some super popular movie, so I decided to take the afternoon to reflect on all of the craziness of the move. The short version is that we unexpectedly lost some furniture, almost left one cat behind, and the husband literally quit the move the day we left Wild Azalea Lane. For a much more entertaining version of these stories, read on.
I color coded all furniture items (green = movers take, orange = donate to Trosa, red = leave). I figured that along with the moving company inventory AND hand written lists of the color coded items that the husband could supervise the move while I took the pups to visit The Chicken Creek Compound and figure out where I wanted big furniture items to go. Aidan came along in his car with all of his precious Lego creations, guitars, and collectable trains he would not entrust to the movers. The husband reported it all went well, the movers were great guys, he got them snacks and tipped them because they did such an amazing job. So imagine my surprise when I pulled into the drive on Tuesday to pack up one last load and saw my Solo stove and fire pit furniture and my favorite pond sitting Adirondack chairs still in their regular spots. When I asked the husband why the movers didn’t take them, he said “I told them to take them.” My next question was about the walk through you do to make sure the movers took everything. A pause from the husband… “they said they would be done by 3pm, and I had to leave at 4:30pm to get goodbye drinks with my tennis friends.” I took a deep breath in and out and then moved all but the Solo stove to the pile of furniture being donated. We had no way to get these items to SC.
One of our cats, the one who is a predominately outdoor cat, had not made it home. I imagine Fireball sitting in the woods watching the movers thinking WTF is happening here. I decided to sleep in the workshop with the dogs on the pandemic couch that was not acceptable to donate (a little offended by this since I slept on it for quite a while during the pandemic to avoid my doctor husband breathing COVID into my nose at night) to make the house as quiet as possible to lure Fireball home. The husband was super proud of himself the next morning when he reported that Fireball was securely in our girl’s bedroom ready to make the move. Relieved, I headed upstairs with the vet prescribed Gabapentin to help the cats make the 4 hr drive in a cat carrier less stressful. Banjo, my girl’s emotional support cat, was first. Since he has packed on some pounds simply sleeping on her bed as his primary activity, I put him into the hard cover carrier and looked around for Fireball. When I could not find him, I noticed the attic door was ajar. He had used his paw to open the door and hide in the attic. And he was not coming out. We had one item for 1 800 Junk upstairs, so I told the husband once they were out of the house to sit upstairs with treats to see if Fireball would come out. The attic is hot, there is no food or water in there, so he couldn’t stay in there forever. Two hours come and go and still no Fireball. This is when my girl decided to take action. She is my mini me in that when she sets her mind to do something, she WILL do it. We sent the husband on the road with the one cat while she headed to Wal Mart for a humane trap. She reported when she showed the receipt at the exit, the greeter asked what she was trying to catch. She replied “my f-ing cat.” Classy, my girl, classy. She showed me Tik Tok videos of her crying, sweating and begging Fireball to come out. Those were hard to watch. At one point she actually grabbed him, but he scratched her to get away, and she hit her head on the nails used to re-reroof our house in 2009. And there was nothing in the house except toilet paper to clean her wound. The last Tik Tok was of Fireball being escorted out of the only home he ever knew in the back up canvas cat carrier. He meowed in her front passenger seat the entire trip. I am sure at some point in the trip she contemplated leaving him on the side of the road. And Fireball’s thank you for the escort to his new home? He peed through the canvas carrier onto her front passenger seat. Not cool Fireball!
Oh, and while my girl was on Operation Capture Fireball, the husband was trying to figure out what to do with the paint cans 1 800 Junk wouldn’t take. The people buying our home said no personal items could be left on the property (so many stories there for another post), so the cans had to disappear that day. I told him to put them in black trash bags and dump in the trash at the recycling center and RUN before they figured out what they were (no paint cans can be thrown away, they have to go to a special recycling location that is only open one day of every month). What he said next was unexpected. He said “I am done with this move. I quit.” Now, I should have looked at the clock and known he was “hangry,” but I was driving on rural SC roads and needed to get off the phone so I could see my driving directions. I told him he could not quit, all he had to do was drive the one cat to SC…. THEN he could be done. He stopped at Subway for a foot long sub and decided not to quit the move.
That night the entire Shimpi family was in the new house. We were all exhausted, sweaty (hello Low Country humidity), but all together…even Fireball.