Not to harp on a negative, but there is one negative aspect of going on vacation. It’s not the getting up early or the schedules or the packing or anything like that. No, it’s something a little closer to my heart.
I really don’t like relocating Tom for the time we are gone.
Our poor kitty cat. He absolutely hates riding in the car. He hates it. Anything that can come out of a cat generally will, he complains about the ride the entire time and he has a look in his eye that can only mildly be described as “pissed”. He glares at me through the holes of his cat carrier mile after mile, almost as if he’s begun some sort of vengeful plot to be carried out when we get home from fun in the sun.
What are parents to do? Since he obviously hates traveling, I don’t think he’d be comfortable for the 8,000 mile journey we are about to embark on. He’d be parallel parked in his “kennel cab” between a cooler and my laptop bag. I mean, while the PowerBook is quite beautiful (at least to me), is it really appropriate to be staring at that through metal bars as we drive through the desert? No, he’s much happier at his gramp’s with his two cousins that have no idea what to do when there’s a male cat in the house.
I have to admit that tonight it’s a little unusual in the house not to hear the patter of paws, the tickling of the ivories from his runs up the piano or the crashing of some random knick knack in a far corner of the house. He’s probably spending the evening looking surly and getting to know the two broads we’ve saddled him up with for the next two weeks.
I’m sure he’ll complain about the whole ordeal on his ride home when we get back.
