Dear David,
Mister Hugh and I made it to Toronto just fine. Believe it or not, it wasn’t worse than taking him to the vet. In actuality, it was much easier… the nine hours in the car were less traumatic than the five minutes it takes to drive him to Dr. Paws! But I’ll have to give credit where credit is due: thank you, acepromazine.
I was tempted to take some pictures of Mister Hugh along the way, but he looked so dopey and pathetic that I didn’t have the heart to do it. He couldn’t even focus, poor kitty. I felt badly, but the anxiety he would’ve felt otherwise was akin to torture. He’s survived much worse than being stoned for half a day.
I want you know that it didn’t take long for Hugh to return to his normal (incontinent) self. Thank heavens for wood flooring. After coming to, when we arrived in Toronto, he made a grab for the Greenies and it was at that moment I knew he’d be alright. He sulked when I kept moving around his dishes and litterbox, and made it clear he wasn’t going to put up with this nonsense. He took a dump right on his welcome mat.
You used to joke that you were the Country Mouse and I was the City Mouse. What should we call Hugh? He’s still adjusting to urban ambience: the sounds of neighbouring apartment dwellers and traffic and passersby, but I think once I get everything unpacked and he’s given it all the Royal Sniff, he’ll relax more.
The other night I tried to give him a proper introduction to the World of the Balcony, but last night he was too Fraidy Cat to step out. Didn’t even make it to the doorway. You know Hugh — little by little, one step at a time.
As for me, I’m trying to do the same: one step at a time. Trying not to lose focus or let anxiety take over. No acepromazine for me, though.
XOXO from the House of Fielding in Toronto. We miss you.
Love,
Your City Mouse and Tuxedo Cat