I am no strange to moving. I moved into my old home with some old roommates. They were not acceptable because I found myself outside by myself in the middle of winter in a cold snap. How cold is that? Then, I was hauled into the hospital jail. At least I got fed 2 squares per day, and there was some man and some woman fussing over me, and I did not care for them sticking needles and thermometers where the sun don't shine. I did not love it there, but I was happy about the meals. Then there came another man and another woman shoved me in a blue box with holes in it, I protested loudly. This blue box was not going to an acceptable home to me. There was barely any room to turn around, there was some scratch white towel in there, and there was no food and water. They seem to have heard my protests, and finally let me in an acceptable dwelling of which I have grown accustom. There was plenty of food and drink, and few windows that suited me. I got used to this home quite well, and the roommates were nice enough. Then, not too long ago, the roommates tossed me back into the unacceptable blue box. I thought I would never see that blue box again, it is so uncomfortable. Then next thing I know, I am in my home with my roommates, but it is not my home. It smells different, but all my stuff is there. My food bowl, check, my water bowl, check, my condo, check, my treats, check, my box, check. Yup, all very familiar, but not. There are bigger and brighter windows, and there are some scrumptious birds, rabbits and squirrels to see. The roommates keep saying, "Kitty, do you like your new home?" It is new, but old and familiar. I must shed more to make this place smell right.