Just like land people, there are two kinds of boat people—those who wouldn’t dream of having us critters because it would slow them down, interfere with grand travel plans, and ewww, all that hair. The other group, like my parents, loves us more than their human children and wants to take us everywhere. I love my parents and I hate when they go away without me so the idea of going with them anywhere sounds good. However, I’m a cat and I’m born to take the same nap at the same time in the same place every day. Nevertheless, I do “travel” each year to the cat hospital and while I complain a lot, it’s not really that bad. So, how bad can this traveling thing be? Well, let me tell you what I’ve been through…
I sort of suspected something was up when my “annual travel” to the cat hospital changed to a weekly event and was filled with lots of poking and prodding of my private parts. My mom told me that the country of Antigua, where ever that is, thinks that all felines have cooties so they make us get an international health certificate that says no, we don’t have rabies, leukemia, distemper, worms, fleas, or other nasty parasites…eww. So after I had to poop in a bag, get this chip thingie put into my neck, nasty stuff dripped on my neck, two shots with big needles, and a bunch of blood taken out of my body, the USDA deemed me healthy and ready for travel. Will someone please tell me where Antigua is?
Then one really early morning while I was still fast asleep in my favorite napping place, my parents turned on all the lights, snatched me from my bed, shoved this awful-tasting pink pill down my throat, and stuffed me into the bag I sit in when I go to the cat hospital. Whoa, what is THIS all about? And what’s an uber and an airport? My mom makes a joke to some stranger peering at me in my bag that I cost a lot of money to get my own napping spot but I’m worth every bit. Yup, that’s right, now can we get that uber thing and go back home?
My brain is a little foggy now but I think my mom is actually taking me out of my little bag (which seems the only safe spot) while some man is yelling about shoes and laptops and 3oz bottles. I’ve never been so happy to get back into my little bag. Well, that’s what I thought until about 8 hours later when I tried to get out of my bag because, um…I need to go potty. And I’m hungry. Hello? Hello? I’ve obviously been forgotten so I’ll have to open the door on my bag by myself. Aha, I can feel my dad’s feet…now where’s my litter box and…suddenly BAM! my dad grabs me and not so gently by the way, shoves me back into my bag telling my mom that I’m such a smart cat I can open my own bag. Yup, that’s me, smart cat.
Before long, my mom picks up my bag and jostles me around until I’m back in a car again. Hey, I know the uber car—it means I’m going home. Yippee! At last, everything stops moving, a door opens, and I’m so relieved to be home again. But wait, this doesn’t smell like home. That’s not my cat box. Those are not my food dishes. Mom pets me and says this hotel is just like home. I pee on the sofa just to let her know this is not just like home and I spend the next five days hiding in the box spring of the bed.
Just when I decide the hotel home isn’t that bad, Mom stuffs me back in my bag and tells me I’m going to my new home called a boat. I already have a home–it’s called a house and it has a nice backyard with grass and lizards. Can you please ask the uber car to come back and take me there?
You’re not going to believe what my mom calls a new home. It’s like a big white uber in the middle of the biggest swimming pool I’ve ever seen. I remember having a pool when I was a little girl—it was like a big water bowl out in the sun. I loved it! But this swimming pool is scary. I can’t see the bottom and there are big white uber boat things everywhere in the pool, rattling and banging and making all kinds of scary noises. I get into my best stealth mode and slowly creep onto the new white home so nobody can see me. There’s a door open and I can see my dad’s clothes and his shoes in a dark quiet box. I’m going in the box and staying there for the rest of my life.
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