In 1970 we moved from Center to Wharton Texas. That is from deep East Texas to South Texas, and across Houston. We had accumulated TWO children and TWENTY plus cats. It seems the two mamma cats we had, decided it was birthing time.Each provided a huge litter. The kids couldn't think of leaving these precious little kittens in Center. I dutifully loaded them in boxes with air holes, etc. and loaded them into my 14 foot Ouachita aluminum boat, which was also getting ready for a new experience - salt water!
Not having ever ridden in a boat on the highway the cats went crazy! All of them! They were tearing at the boxes. I became afraid to get close to the boat. Stopping for gasoline was scary. When they arrived at their new home in the countryside of Wharton they tore off in all directions. Unfortunately, they all came back. There are two other stories I won't tell right now. We began our ministry there, repopulating the cat crowd.
James and Laura, plus kids, just moved their old cat Frodo to Midlothian. She did not like the move and promptly headed back to Goliad, they guess. Frodo was a pretty good cat. Not great. Pretty good. She was unpredictable.Frodo would bite you for no good reason. She may yet come back to their new home. I hope so.
In the meantime it became my duty to move their black lab, "Jet" , to meet another unfortuate grandfather who would finish the cycle to Midlothian. Jim and I historically met for the battle of Yorktown with this overly large and overly friendly animal.(That is Yorktown, Texas, history fans). The exchange was made without incident.
Moving animals is no fun...for them or us. Just imagine if the tables were reversed: "Get in that box you no good persons. We are going for a long boat ride and not in water!". (Are they going to....I can even say it....the D word!!! What is that rope for? And those rocks!!! They are!!!!).Over at a truck this dutiful human crawls, or is part thrown, into a fiberglass cell not begin enough to turn around in. The wind whistles through the bars! Huge eighteen wheelers run up on him in the back of that pickup, surely planning to wipe him out. One has the face and open mouth of a monstrous bulldog painted on the radiator. We arrive starving, dehydrated, and half out of our wits, and our dog owners say, "Did you have a nice ride, big boy? Wasn't that fun???"
Deliver me from any more animal hauls. "Good grief! Is that a cat scratching at the back door? Not Frodo!!!!"
