Something is afoot

I have noticed, with growing unease, that there are boxes in my house again. Boxes usually mean trouble. Sometimes, boxes are ok, because they indicate that a new human toy has been purchased (TV, desk, etc.), and the box will be put in the basement. Eventually boxes stack up and create towers, and towers are where I like to be. But these boxes are a different kind. They come in the house empty and leave filled up with stuff. This stuff is mostly human toys, and once all the human toys have been packed up in boxes and removed from the house, the human beds and sofas will go next. Then the paintings on the wall, the dishes, and all the other stuff humans need to make them happy.

Then they will chase me down. I run, I certainly make them work for it (they tore an entire room apart once to find me, they had the mattress up against the wall), but eventually they close doors systematically and trap me. Then they hold me - I scratch them for their efforts but the hairy one is stronger than me and doesn't mind that he bleeds in the end - and they stuff a pill down my throat. Like that will keep me from voicing my displeasure.

Then I go in my own little box, which goes in the car. We go for a ride. The longer the ride is, the better the chances are I will come out at grandma's house, where I get moist food every day and have a big house to run around in. But usually the boxes mean a ride that ends at a new house. My experience with this kind of box-car combination has not been very rewarding; I usually end up drugged and upset. But in the end, we are in a new place, with new places to explore. I just don't want to see all these boxes.