Fozzie is a cat. He is seven years old and we’ve been family for six and a half years. Before I met my partner, before we had our child, it was me and Fozzie. We’ve been through a lot together. Our bond is strong.
Sure, he’s what I like to call an equal opportunity lap kitty. Meaning he’ll sit on any lap, but I’d like to think my lap is his favorite lap.
As my partner and I plan for a transatlantic move, whether Fozzie will join us on this adventure has become one of the great questions of life.
To me Fozzie is part of our family. He was my fur baby before I had a human baby. When I adopted him I never even considered any other option that that it would be forever.
The other side of the argument. In what is already going to be an expensive endeavor, bringing him is an additional financial burden. More importantly, a potentially traumatizing experience for Fozzie. Once we get there he most likely will not be able to live with us and will have to stay with my partner’s parents a three to four hour drive away because most landlords do not allow pets.
Coming to terms with the fact that we may need to find him a new family, that the best thing for HIM is to find him a new family, is already causing a Fozzie-shaped hole to form in my heart.
I told my partner that once we are settled into a new home I want to get a fish. A black fish. And we shall name it Fozzie.