Get a Move On

Moving house can be fun.

I actually usually like doing it. I get a fresh start, it’s an excuse to de-clutter my crap, I get to um-and-ah over all the brand new ways I can store and display all my stuff in a brand new house. It’s pretty all right.

It’s also an opportunity to show-off how great I am at packing and unpacking a house. No joke, after 20-ish house-moves in more than 20-ish years, I can confidently say that my one true, undeniable skill in life is the ability to pack and unpack an entire house in a ridiculously short amount of time, without a trace. The record I believe was unpacking EVERYTHING in three days, only a couple of days before Christmas, when we hosted eleven people, and no one could even tell we had just moved. It’s true, THEY TOLD ME SO.

That said however, moving cities blows.

Moving with cats kinda blows.

Moving 17 hours away in a State that says you have to view a property before signing a lease, therefore leaving you technically homeless, definitely blows.

What blows most of all though, is moving with the proviso that a government-contractor has the sole responsibility of moving your belongings, and that said government-contractor is currently super duper busy. Too busy to move your shit.

Can I organise it myself and get reimbursed later then? No.

What if I find something cheaper than the contractor? No.

Could you have told me this four weeks before the move instead of one? No.

Can you tell me when you’ll be able to get my shit up there then? No.

What if I give you a very specific date by which I need it to be done, can you at least then tell me if you can’t do it, so that in the meantime I can maybe organise for my shit to get temporarily stored elsewhere, because my lease has ended and I don’t want everything I own to end-up on the curb? No.

No? NO? ‘Kay. Cool. Whatever, I guess it’ll all just figure itself out then.

On the bright-side though, my cats were incredibly cute, albeit annoying on the drive-up, and I lived in constant fear of them over-heating, even with the air-con blasting the whole way.

Exhibit A. While these two started their new-found acquaintance hissing, clawing, and otherwise growling at each other, they eventually bonded over their shared hatred and/or trauma of spending 17 hours in a cat-carrier in a moving car.

Exhibit B. On one of our frequent breaks, Grace decided she’d had enough of our shit, and was jumping ship. Jokes on her though, this is why we got the leash. The as-of-yet unnamed kitty didn’t seem to mind the car as much, but still wanted to see what all the fuss in the bushes was about.

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Until next time.

Au revoir.