Into Nevada

Just east of Sacramento, where the valley begins a rise toward the snowy Sierras, the cat’s moaning hypnotized me. I was fairly exhausted to begin with, but Sukha’s steady bleating over the hum of tires on I-80 had me head-nodding a few times.

We weren’t able to leave our Delaware Street home until 12:54 p.m., two hours after movers began packing in the urbane furnishings that next weekend will make our house sparkle to potential buyers. By noon, we were hurling boxes, scurrying to clean, and trying to organize, grieve, depart, memorialize, and not lose track of the animals.

Sukha made sure of that. I had to build his two-room cat condo in the car and pack around it; the only practical way to get him inside was to carry him. He peed on me just as we were getting to the car. I now realize up until then he’d only ever been in the driveway already inside a carrier. Lesson learned, pants sealed in a demo bag until the next laundromat.

The Sierras never fail to dazzle — all the more with record snowpack. The silver peaks have me wondering, for the hundredth time today, whether I’ll regret leaving gorgeous California. But we press ahead and dine at Royal India in Reno — not to be confused with the Royal Egyptian Cuisine food truck I spotted this morning in Oakland. I will miss your crazily crowded cross-section of humanity, east bay.

We decided to turn in early to avoid driving with kitty in the dark on our first day. He did really well today and is sleeping alongside me on the king-size bed here in the Fernley Super 8, while Dash softly snores near the headboard and, across the bed and far from the click of keys, Jen peacefully slumbers.