So, it’s done.

I delivered the cats to Grandma and Grandpa. They hid under the bed in the guest bedroom a great deal, only coming out to romp on me and the Frenchman when we locked ourselves in the room with them. Ophelia poked her head out from under the pink bedskirt for Grandma, but that was all. Yesterday, she and Cairo figured out how to open the closet and get inside. (I didn’t think they’d smuggled the ACME opposable thumbs, dammit.)

A couple of things worry me. I forgot to bring Los Angeles water for them to drink to transition them to the water where they are at. It tastes very different and I worry that the kitties won’t drink it. They didn’t seem to eat or drink much while we were there two days and two nights, but I suppose that’s to be expected. The other thing that worries me is that the separation might be harder on them than I thought. The Frenchman spent a lot of time with the cats while I talked with my family, and he said that Ophelia cried at the bedroom door to get out whenever she heard my voice in another part of the house. Poor baby!

I feel pretty terrible.

On Saturday, we went to Santa Cruz where my dear friend Feral was being initiated as a Priestess in the Craft. The ritual was very moving — even the Frenchman got a bit leaky in the eyes. She is a fantastic witch already; she hardly needed anyone to say, “Hey, you’re a witch and stuff now.” What’s important, though, is that she chose to make a public statement about her path. I was incredibly proud of her. Afterwards, we feasted and then read poetry. I sang “Don’t Cry Baby Mithras ‘Cos Jesus Stole Your Birthday,” and it was a hit. We stayed with Feral and her husband until yesterday afternoon, then headed back here.

Today, I was so stressed out about the kitties that I got the worst stomach ache ever. The Frenchman took care of me until I felt better. We then went swimming and that helped me relax somewhat. It was my first swim with my new eyes! I can’t tell you how awesome it was to be able to see as we played.

But then I had to come home to my now kitty-less apartment. The Frenchman keeps reminding me that this will be over before I know it, that the separation is only temporary and that the kitties have very strong personalities. I just feel horrible putting them through any stress at all, even if it’s for the opportunity of a lifetime. It doesn’t seem fair. I’ll feel better when Grandma lets me know they’re eating and drinking okay.