It's very quiet. There is no nervous playing. There is no darting under the bed. There is nothing. Nothing but two cat-shaped holes in a very dirty room. Already, I think I see them out of the corner of my eye, lying on the blanket-less bed or sniffing at the newly packed boxes on the floor. Really, I'm okay; I'm sure they'll be fine. I won't miss them terribly, wondering if they're okay, wondering if they're making friends with the large and terrifying dogs that I'm sure they will be stacked next to in the plane, wondering if they are confused and frightened, knowing that they don't really understand what's happening. No, I won't be thinking any of those things.
After all, they are just cats.
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