The day for the final move from the old rented cottage to our newly reconstructed home further up the mountain had finally arrived. When I arrived at the old cottage, Murli, Felix and Maxi, the farmer’s cats who had become my occasional cats for the past two years, were already waiting for me at the door.

I did what I always used to do: I sat down on the doorstep and gave each of them a good belly and backrub; they love it and kept asking for more, pushing and biting each other, trying to make room to get onto my lap.

Then I did what I usually did not because of my daughter’s allergies to fur: I let them come into the cottage. They immediately ran to the place where the fridge used to be (they knew it well for having watched me get their goodies), but it wasn’t there anymore. They meowed in concert, in sheer frustration, “Where is the milk? Where is the ham?” Sorry, guys, we are moving out. There is nothing left in the kitchen.

They followed me into the other rooms, sniffed and jumped in all the boxes, walking on all the piles of things I had prepared for packing. Maxi jumped on my shoulders and made himself comfortable there. He did not mind my going up and down; he stayed around my neck as if he were a fur scarf. Murli kept rubbing herself on my arms, Felix doing the same around my legs. I almost fell down the stairs because of him, and I could not work with them around. Finally, I put them outside the door. They objected loudly.

I then finished packing and called Robert to come pick me up and put the boxes in the car. He parked the car on the road below, opened the car trunk and doors and came to help me carry the parcels. I looked for the cats to say good-bye, but they had disappeared.

Or so I thought. Actually, they were comfortably sitting on the back seat of the car, ready to move with us. We tried to chase them out. They refused and hid under the seats. Maxi was the hardest to get out. I gave him another good belly rub, put him down and off we drove.

Next thing we saw was Felix walking in front of the car towards our new house. We honked, but he refused to get out of the middle of the road. Apparently, he knew where we were heading, some 100 meters up the mountain. We followed him, and Maxi followed the car. It was hilarious.

When we arrived, both cats came up to the doorstep of the new house but then ran away quickly as we opened the door. May be they did not like the smell of fresh paint? Or had only wanted to check on the new place? Or were hoping to see where we had put the fridge? Or smelled that we would not go back to the old place? Anyway, they left without asking for rubs, and I have not seen them again.

Chantale Holzmann