The moving company that should be named Deliverance


Being a writer allows me the freedom to embellish but, typically, my posts on this blog are steeped in truth and this post is no different.

A dear friend of mine moved on Tuesday. The process to get to the actual move itself was arduous and emotionally draining. When the day finally came to move, the moving company brigade was nothing like I expected. I arrived just as the team began to unload the first truck and everything seemed normal. But all of that quickly changed.

What seemed like a cohesive team of movers steadily morphed into what could only be described as a slapstick comedy show. What should have been a choreographed routine of piling boxes and other items to make the best use of space, became a haphazard placement of boxes in random places. Movers were entering the house and discarding their shoes as they went down the hallway, only to have the other movers trip over those same shoes with the next item to enter the house, narrowly missing the walls with the items they were carrying. To say it was unorganized would be an egregious understatement.

And then there was Peaches. She may only weigh 110 pounds soaking wet but she could lift just as much as her male coworkers. She began the process with strength and confidence but as the seconds turned into minutes, each item she lifted seemed to carry the burden of the weight of the truck itself. She became quickly dehydrated and began to spontaneously shed layers of clothing. The dramatic flair she conveyed with each piece that was discarded, and the voice that could have been created by a helium balloon, took everything from comical to moderately disturbing. It wasn’t until I looked out into the driveway and saw her leaning against my friend’s car, I knew we were in trouble. She was arched over the front bumper of his SUV in the pose of Alex from Flashdance moments before the bucket of water was dropped.

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I realized at that moment we had gone from quirky to surreal. To say she was as high as a kite is to say humans need oxygen to survive. As the move progressed, so did the stages of her buzz. When the last item was removed from the truck, the sigh of my friend’s relief could have drowned out the sound of the passing train.

With the exception of a few items that did not fare the move so well, we thought the process had ended after an equally strange conversation with the man in charge who did not want to leave the house. That was not the case. The moving truck was now stuck in the driveway spinning its wheels on the ice. Thankfully, the rest of the moving team had been waiting to exit en masse and pulled the moving truck out of the driveway. I could swear I heard the sound of duelling banjos as they drove down the road.

Cat pee and a reason for change


Yesterday my aunt, my brother and I spent many hours cleaning out my mom’s house.  She is still currently in hospital awaiting the news of where we will be able to find her new forever home. On Friday, the remaining three cats (from the beginning number of six cats) were taken out of the house and surrendered to the OSPCA for adoption.  As much as my mom loved those cats and her two dogs, we had to make the decision to do the fairest thing for them and allow them a chance at a life with a new family.  My brother is still currently fostering the two dogs.


During the clean out, I realized why I will never again have a cat.  Cats have three basics tasks – eat, sleep and evacuate their bowels and urinary tracts.  With six different litter boxes in the house, I’m still perplexed as to how a cat can fail to execute the one task a cat is meant to master.  Without getting into horrific details, there are pieces of furniture that were removed from my mom’s house that were more saturated with cat urine than a lifetime of litter boxes will ever be.

It was a cathartic experience throwing things out that my mom had been stock-piling for the apocalypse.  I wasn’t sure how I would feel getting rid of some of my mom’s belongings, but the overwhelming smell of cat made the job much easier, and much quicker, than anticipated.

We still have one more floor to tackle, but the truly important stuff from that house is comfortably tucked into her hospital bed awaiting our visit this afternoon and a chance to breathe some fresh air during a trip to a potential retirement home.  The rest of the novelties are just things.  Sure, there are items with great sentimental value that will find a place in my home or my brother’s home, but the rest of those possessions are replaceable.  My mom is not.

My muscles will be put to the test again today as we endeavor to clean up the second floor and get the house ready for more people to create memories in that house that will be as happy as the ones we have.  I can only pray they don’t have a cat!