The Persian Secession: 41st Parallel North
This is the story of a five year old cat named Woody who had spent his whole life indoors in Manhattan and then found himself outdoors in Westchester County, then got lost, then got chased, then hid, then got rained on, then got found and reunited with his adopted family.
Our move was spaced out over four days: packing up on Tuesday, moving out on Wednesday, closing on our real estate transactions on Thursday and moving in on Friday. First thing Tuesday morning, I managed to stuff the cats into their respective carriers and took them to the Murray Hill Animal Hospital to be boarded until Friday. Then we packed a suitcase and checked into a hotel nearby.
Things went exceptionally smoothly. Any additional negotiations were quick and painless. We gave our attorney the authority to represent us at the closings so we could focus on our preparations, our toddler and our mental health. The one hiccup was that when we went to inspect our empty apartment, we found about three boxes worth of dishes and measuring cups that were missed by the packers. We found it on Wednesday and decided that we could take it up to the house on Thursday to make sure everything fit in our car on Friday. So on Thursday, after the closings, we picked up our new keys and drove to the house.
When we got back, we pulled up to the hotel and the doorman seemed to think it would be prudent at this time to tell us that we were being charged $50 for parking every time we showed up at the hotel (this was #3). This guy knew we didn’t know that was happening, probably because no one told us, and he had an alternate plan. My instincts told me instantly to reject any cleverness and just weather the final gouging. However, the offer of “I’m helping you save money” is difficult to rebuff; I don’t want to seem blasé about being robbed blind. So the guy tells me I can park in front of the hotel - he’s working until seven and he can keep an eye on the car. He tells me that at that time I can call the front desk and tell them I am parked there just for a minute and I will be checking out very soon. I already hate this plan, what I understand of it - it took a number of questions to get the whole plan out in way that made sense to me. So in the interest of getting the baby to bed - we’re standing in the lobby well after his bedtime at this point, I tell the guy fine. Then he for some reason takes an extra five-feels-like-twenty minutes to set it up. We finally go up to bed.
Good morning! The room phone rings and wakes everyone up. It’s not seven, it’s just before six and still pitch black out. The doorman calls and tells me if I don’t move my car now, it will be towed. Alas, my accurate instincts have been defeated by my desire to appear more careful about money than I actually am to a complete stranger whom I will never see again.
Remember in Pulp Fiction when Samuel L Jackson is cleaning up the back of the gory head-exploded car, and he says that every time he touches brain he’s “Superfly T.N.T?” That’s how I feel about putting on yesterday’s socks.
So that happened. I go park in a lot, for less than fifty dollars but still not free, and get back up to the room. We pack up our bags and get on the road - despite the annoyances, we’re really excited to get to the new house and get started on making it homey.
We were already off the Saw Mill on the way to Brookdale Lane when we realized the cats were still at the vet….
to be continued
