Convinced that I could give Squeeker a much better life than he would ever get if I left him with his owners, we began making plans. My parents already have a cat (also my "baby" as he has been the family cat since 1987) and both cats hate other cats, so he definitely couldn't stay there with me. But, my grandparents had lost their last pet not too many months previously, and on the one or two occasions they'd had to meet Squeeker (which I had begun calling him, because of his tiny half-mew greetings) they had adored him instantly and said they'd love to keep him for me until I moved out on my own. So it was agreed that, even though I had to finish moving out of my apartment (packing, cleaning, etc.) after graduation, since they were all going to be in town for the event, they'd sweep him off in a carrier that afternoon. A couple of months before graduation, I bought a litterbox and litter so he could get used to that while he was inside. Then, about 2-3 weeks before, I took him to the vet to get him shots and a bath (he was filthy, big surprise). After that visit, I kept him inside full time so he'd stay clean, not get hurt, etc.

It was finally graduation day, and I was dressed and ready to go, and my family started to arrive. My uncle (Mom's younger brother) came in as well, and arrived with my grandparents. You want to talk about Murphy's Law. They all knew that I'd been keeping him in (and that he'd been driving me nuts wanting out) and that we had to be careful going in the apartment. But, of course, he went shooting out one of the times someone opened the door. My dad, uncle, and Jeremy all tried to catch him, but he went running deep under a bush and wouldn't come out. We did have an ace though, to get him later: he was used to munching off and on all day, a little at a time a few times an hour. So, since we were going to be gone a couple hours, we figured he'd come running, lonely and hungry, when we got back. Sure enough he did, and we got him back inside. We stayed a while, then packed all his stuff (his litterbox went into a double-bagging of paper bags to keep it from spilling in the trunk). Finally, I told him goodbye and we put him in the carrier my grandparents brought, and off he went on the approx. 2 hour drive back to St. Louis and my grandparents' house.

After two more days, I was ready to leave. I packed my car one more time, to the point of bursting, and left about midnight (yes, very late -- hindsight shows I should've just stayed until the next afternoon, and/or made two trips, but oh well...). I got in bewteen 1:30am and 1:45am, and didn't even unpack the car until the next day. After unpacking, I went to visit Squeeker. They'd set him up in one of their spare bedrooms, as "his" room so he would be able to have a safe place from which to explore. Well, he'd spent the last two days hiding under the king size bed, in the middle and all the way back to the wall, as far away as he could get. The only times he came out from under it was to eat or drink water, or to use his litterbox, then it was right back under the bed. What we decided was, since I didn't have to work for a couple weeks yet, that it would help him if I stayed there for a while. So, I slept in that room with him every night, and he almost immediately came out of his shell and started getting his confidence back. It was a pretty big house, especially compared with my teensy apartment that he'd been used to while inside.

Squeeker spent nights sleeping on the bed, on me or his blanket at the foot of it, or sleeping in the chair in the room. It was very nice, and we bonded well. He spent days sitting in front of their sliding glass door, looking out into the back yard and watching all the birds (mostly pigeons) that they put seed out for, along with the occasional squirrel that would come up on the porch. He'd play, explore all the rooms every day, spend time on one or another of the dining room chairs up under the table, all sorts of things. He'd take turns sitting on our laps as well. Another thing he'd do was to walk within 2 or 3 feet from the couch, just out of arm's reach when you were sitting there, and do his flop-look-cute routine. He got the sweetest expression on his face, "Aren't I so cute? You can't help but love me!" He'd curl all his toes and sort of curl his body a bit, cocking his head to one side, his blue eyes wide and begging for attention. But of course, I was always the one who got down on the floor to pet him, since my grandparents would've had a hard time (understandably) getting back up off the floor if they got down with him. I'd pet his furry belly, and scratch his ears, and tell him what a sweet, good, cute baby boy he was.

In the evenings, he liked to watch the racoons and black cats that came for the food my grandparents put out for them and any other furry critters that came by. He would sit at the glass and watch for them, and then watch the racoons (at one time there was an adult and five young ones coming for the water and dog food provided for them) as they padded around all over the porch. They never seemed bothered by him, really. The cats would get fed once with a whole can of catfood as each came by, which meant holding onto Squeeker so he didn't run out with them. They each reacted to him differently (there were three, and we think they were all family), but none of them was scared off by him. Sometimes one would even sit a foot or two from the glass and look in at him, and they seemed to get used to his being there. He got used to them coming as well, and when one or more of them didn't come, he'd stay sitting there, looking for them and I suppose wondering where they were. He had a great time in front of that window, day and night, entertained by all the various feathered and furred critters.