Cecil, the foster cat

More than a decade ago, my niece, Paige, adopted a cat and named him Uncle Cecil Missouri. Upon discovering that Cecil needed to be spade rather than neutered, she refused to change her name, so the girl cat remained Cecil. Cecil lived the first few years of her life in Midland, then she came to live with Mom and me for over a year in Hartford, then she moved with me into the new house in Midland where she remained with my brother's family until last November, when I somehow regained custody and moved her into my house in Fort Smith (did you get all that?). She moved with me to Conway in March. And now, since I can't have pets in the new place and my dad and Vickie were nice enough to adopt her, she's in another new home.

It's been a traumatic day. After work I put Cecil in her crate (which she hates) and in my car (which she hates more) and took her to Dad and Vickie. She cried the whole way. I struggled not to cry, too. Because even though she makes me crazy, it's nice that something cares when I come home. And it was depressing when I got home from the ball game and she wasn't there to greet me. Now I'm laying in bed and she's not on the pillow beside me. And that's kinda sad.