It’s hard to believe that six months have passed since the animals and I moved into the rig. Here’s an update on Boss Tweed.
Before our major life change, when in the carrier in the car, Boss Man would cry the entire way. I wasn’t sure if he was crying because of the movement of the vehicle, or because he knew he was going to the vet.
Boss Tweed adjusted immediately to life inside Nellie. He acclimated quickly to using a top – loading litter box (which is now in the bedroom instead of behind the passenger seat).
He lounged on every surface and slept soundly.
His favorite place was (and is) in the sun in his bed on the dash. On rainy days I love watching him chase raindrops down the windshield.
After we all moved into Nellie, I waited 10 days before driving the rig. I wanted Boss and Olive to adjust to the motor home first, without having to tackle motion too. For the maiden voyage I had to decide between allowing Boss Tweed to roam free, versus putting him in the carrier. On one hand, it might be safer for him and for me if he was in a carrier. On the other hand, I did not want him to equate the movement of our new home with an impending vet appointment. Can you imagine going through life, thinking every time you drove down the road that you were on your way to the doctor?
I decided no carrier. It was only the third of fourth time I had driven the rig, so I was nervous enough already. Boss Man tried to get under my feet by the pedals. I gave him such a swift kick that he has never tried it again!
On the first four or five trips, Boss caterwauled the entire time. On a three-hour drive, he cried so long and so hard and so loudly that his little feline voice was hoarse by the time we arrived at our destination.
As time went on, Tweedie Pie stopped caterwauling. But, he continued to hide under the pillows on the bed as we traveled. Then, over time, he began riding on the sofa.
I knew we were getting somewhere when he sat next to my driver’s chair on the rug. Every once in a while he would jump up on the dash to lay in his bed. But, the moment he saw that big world whizzing by, he jumped right down again.
Then, somewhere on Route 66, the miraculous occurred. Boss jumped up on the dash, looked around for a few minutes, then laid in his bed, his back to the scenery.
Each time we go out now, he lingers a little longer, face forward, before he turns his back on all that movement.
Boss gets attention everywhere we go. He holds court in the front window at RV parks, gas stations, and ferry terminals, and he plays with anyone who traces a hand on the windshield from the outside. Every visitor is greeted and welcomed by his squeaky door hinge meow.
He loves on everyone; here he is on my friend’s lap on a trip to Oregon.
You may recall I was considering putting Boss on a leash to take him outside. I decided not to do that. If Boss gets out, it increases his desire to go out. It is difficult for me to stop him when I open the door from the outside, as he leaps from the top step before I can grab him. I have a fear that he will jump out at a truck stop or parking lot somewhere and get run over. The longer he does not go out, the less he tries to do so.
Endearing and yet annoying at the same time, Big Boss has figured out how to get me up in the morning so he can get fed. He paws at the roller shades on each side of the bed, by my head, until they roll up with a thwap! and the sun comes shining in. That little shit! I build a pillow fortress each night at the head of the bed and lean them against the shades to thwart him, but he still manages to roll up at least one shade every morning.
Boss Tweed brings so much joy and happiness to my life, and I’m fantastically relieved that he has made the transition and considers Nellie his home.