Last night the earth moved. No, really. There was an earthquake at around two o’clock in the morning which shook the house. Chester thinks we are targeting him specifically.
As we are moving house, we have been repositioning things, packing things and creating spaces where previously there was furniture. He doesn’t like this – it unnerves him.
We have locked him indoors so that he doesn’t run away or hide in the removal van. He scrabbles his paws against the cat flap which no longer wafts open at his touch, so we have blocked it with boxes. He walks around in circles, yowling. He has to use his litter tray rather than popping out for his morning ablutions – this is undignified and unacceptable. He suffers in less than silence.
Finally last night he curled up on our bed after pacing back and forth and chewing up cardboard for hours. Just after he had settled there was a rumbling, a bang, a crack and a shake. He leapt off the bed and recommenced the vocal complaint (as only Burmese can do).
He is affronted. He is disturbed. I keep telling him that there is no way on earth we would ever leave him behind but I can tell by his furry little face that he doesn’t understand. His little world is coming apart at its seams. I feel responsible, but not for the earthquake.