Last week I headed up, back to the motherland. Virginia in this case, to Sandbridge. Sandbridge is a beach, some ways south of Virginia beach. Unlike the traditional beaches, this one is nearly all rental properties – no hotels, no motels, no camping.
There’s exactly one beach store/restaurant that looks like it could be on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives (Or Kitchen Nightmares). There is no boardwalk, no “main strip”. It’s blissfully quiet.
My brother gets a place up there from time to time and invites the whole tribe, sort of like a mini family reunion. Only two made it up from Texas this time, me and my son.
I had a dog sitting/walking service look after the dog and cat. The boy came over to ride to the airport together. So we hit the road, leaving the dog to herself. . Luckily, since there were no women in our party, we got there early. He has the same get there early genes as me.
The flight up was about as routine as it gets with AA these days. We flew into Norfolk, and I picked up my sad upgrade car – a Dodge Charger. I rented a Jetta, this is what I got. Not. A. Fan. We headed out, and decided to grab a bite to eat on the way. I forgot we flew into Norfolk, thought we flew into Richmond, and girded myself for a longer drive. Two seconds later, we were at Virginia beach. Whoops.
When we are all together, one family picks a night to cook. Otherwise, you are on your own. Everyone buys a shit ton of food, and it all goes into a communal pile. Bacon seemed to be the coin of the realm. I think we had 30lbs of the stuff. Not that any went to waste. We all feasted like champions.
The weather was fantastic:
I think it was only 85 any given day.
Soon enough it was time to come home. Man, that sucked.
First off, it was raining. Second, after many delays, the flight took off – 4.5 hours late. Before I left, I saw this happening on my app, and looked at alternatives. There weren’t really any. All my options had connections that put me back at DFW about the same time I’d be there on my original flight. I also think changing flights like that is bad ju-ju. More than once, I’ve done that and been screwed, arriving later than if I simply gutted it out.
So gut it out, I did. I did manage to switch to an exit aisle for free. So I had that, which was nice.
I got off the plane and promptly got on the wrong parking shuttle. One I waited 20 minutes for after passing up the correct one. Suck-Factor 5, Mr. Sulu. I had to wait for a dozen people to be dropped off at their cars before getting to mine. Every time I park at DFW – Every time, it gets worse and this was as bad as it gets.
I got home after midnight.
Aria was beyond excited. The cat, less so.
Something happened with the cat.
I don’t know if it was because she was locked in the room whilst Herself moved her stuff out, or if the sitter over-fed her. She had way too much dry food in her bowl. Regardless, she stopped doing what cats normally do. Every day she pissed outside the litter box, then didn’t use it at all. She pissed and shit on the bed, and seemed content to simply lay there. She also stopped grooming herself. I think I washed the blankets we use to protect the comforter at least twice before I figured out she wasn’t bothering to lumber down from the bed. I think she overate all week and was having trouble waddling.
Time for the Day of the Pillow.
I took her to the shelter today.
Why?
I can’t put another animal down. And this way, she’ll have half a chance that some kind soul will take her in. If they put her down, she’s no worse for it. Carrying her to the car, she seemed way heavier than the 25 lbs she was at the vet. I think she was overfed and crossed a line here.
My lungs are trashed from this. She came into the bathroom today and I thought I’d have an asthma attack. It hit me that I’m going through a lot of effort and expense with a pulmonologist all the while living with the mother of all contagions.
She was a great cat. But the move here ruined her. She was out of her territory and didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to be near the dogs. She spent all her time mostly in the Master bedroom. I don’t have the same affection for her as I do my dogs. Herself would complain endlessly about her, and I told her each time to take her to the shelter her damn self, that I was done with doing the dirty work here. I think we’ve had to bring 3-4 cats to the shelter over the years for one reason or another.
I’ve spent hours cleaning, all the time realizing that the rooms had never been properly cleaned.
Want something done, I suppose you have to do it yourself.
Inspected By Pat 