That’s right, just like that one movie starring Drew Barrymore and Steve Zahn, except minus the pregnancy, marriage, and heroin bits. Well, alright, there was only a little bit of heroin involved; but it was only used to calm the nerves!
Alright, so there’s no one left in town to watch our beloved Catman,
and last time we left him home alone for a few days he freaked out and probably nearly drowned himself.
So, foolishly, we decided to bring him along this time so that he didn’t get too terribly lonely. We pack up the car and are ready to go; he’s got his litter, his overnight bag complete with lazar pointer, tennis ball, food and water bottle, and his beloved bean box (that’s right, it really is just a box filled with navy beans). We can’t really afford a carrier for him, but figure it would do just the same to stick him in his box. We’re ready for our three hour trip on the road down to the big CO; it can’t be that bad, right?
Wrong. We were so unforgivably wrong. My god. Five minutes down the road Catman begins to cry, but we figured it would end, it always does. Ten minutes down the road we’re hit by heavy traffic, backed up from Portland to Salem. Twenty minutes down the road and Catman is still crying a high pitched scream every other second and we’ve barely hit the south tip of Portland. Ian is breathing hard and frustrated, trying to keep the cat down in 90° weather and tells me to turn the car around and that he’d rather just stay home with the cat for the weekend. But we shove on. We’re sweating profusely and ready to bash his head against the dashboard as it takes us two hours to reach Salem, normally a forty minute (if that) drive. We’ve done everything at this point, mostly including baby-shaking him, which normally works right?
I mean, it ought to scramble their brains about a bit to the point that they don’t know where they are and shut the fuck up. But, I guess through trial and error we discovered that the confusion caused by baby-shaking a cat only makes them more upset and induces more screams. We give up and let him run around the whole car screaming as he jumps over boxes and crawls under seats trying to shimmy his way beneath my brake pedal (I honestly think he was trying to kill us).
After three hours of nonstop screaming Catman finally calms down and falls asleep head first in a bowl on the floor.
And a couple hours later we reach our destination for a scream-free three day weekend. However, as soon as we pack up the car to return home and put him in the backseat the screaming starts again as he claws frantically at the taped-up, busted in window. We didn’t get the luxury of him falling asleep this time. No, he screamed from Redmond all the way back to Portland, all 180 miles of it.
I think I would rather throw him in the bag and toss him in the river than do that ever again. And I love that goddamn Catman. Bastard. I’m never travelling with cats again, ever.