OK, so Clachat has moved on to a better place.
No, she's not dead. She was adopted by a very nice lady and her husband, who have a house with a big yard, grass, trees and lots of interesting things for her to explore when she's not sleeping.
Here's how it went down:
The lady was supposed to come at 10am, but being French, arrived at 10:30-ish with her granddaughter (who is our neighbor and in the Little Guy's class at school). I thought they were taking the cat THEN, but instead the woman said she was babysitting her granddaughter today, and could she leave the cat carrier here and come back at about 2pm? That way she wouldn't have to let the cat out of the box at her daughter's apartment and put the cat back in again in the afternoon. I said sure, no problem, because what else could I do -- she's taking the cat off our hands, and for FREE, so she can have it any old way she wants! Plus, I was late to meet Georges at a rental agency for an apartment we have decided to apply for, so I needed to get going.
I came home from the agency, had some lunch and did a bit of work for an hour. A friend called from back home and we shot the breeze while Clachat got in one more good attack on the gardienne's dog, for good measure -- I was happy she hit her mark, one more for the road if you will.
2pm rolled around; no lady. 2:15... no lady. Finally around 2:35, she came back (Parisians are rarely on time for anything). I had already prepared the cat carrier and luckily for me, Clachat was curled up on the kitchen chair right next to it, so I just picked her up and we proceeded to try and get the cat in the box.
She wasn't having it. Even though her own special cushion was inside, and I'd put a few bits of dry cat food in their, mistakenly thinking she'd go for the food. Not so. Never having had to stuff a cat in a box before, I was fearful of being scratched to shreds so I tried to hold her behind her front legs so I could prevent her from scratching or biting me or the nice lady who was giving her a new home.
After about 5 minutes of this, and still no cat in the box, the lady (who has more experience with cats than I do) suggested we try it back feet first. Ah! Brilliant idea! I kept my firm grip on the cat by her upper body while the lady took hold of her back legs and gently put them in the box, then we sort of tilted the box upward toward vertical, so the cat had no choice but to slide gently in, butt first. 1-2-3, we had the door in place and a very worried looking and upset kitty in the box.
Which is when I nearly lost it. She wasn't crying but she was trying to scratch the cushion to sort of dig her way out, poor baby. The lady quickly took her after that; she has a car so the cat will travel in style and won't be knocked around on the metro (and frankly this cat is heavy, plus the weight of the box, and the lady is rather petite and fragile-looking.
I said goodbye to Clachat and reminded her that she would have a very good life now with her new garden to play in. And off they went.
Me, I headed straight for the bathroom to immediately pack up and throw out the stinky cat box, the scratching post she destroyed, and her plastic food bowls. Before I could even empty the litter box, I started to cry. I'm surprised it took me that long; I am, of course, a natural-born weeper and it's one of the things I do best in life. I wasn't so much sad that she was gone as I felt bad that she will go through a (probably quite short) period of fear and confusion until she finally adjusts to her new surroundings and Humans.
But I got over it quickly. And after I removed all evidence that a cat has ever lived here, I felt much better.
And tomorrow morning, when I do NOT have to listen to the incessant shrieking and scratching on the door, or worry about being brutally attacked for food the second I step outside my bedroom, I will be thankful that the cat has a such a lovely new home... elsewhere.
