The other day I was going through old photos and I found one taken on the day I was leaving Los Angeles and driving across the country with my cousin, Becky, and my two cats to get to South Carolina and get married.
In the picture, I was standing at my then-car holding a jar of Vaseline and the caption was, “If we try to get one more thing in this car, we’ll have to slather it with Vaseline!” From the looks of the trunk of the car, that was a perfect title.
It made me remember that trip with all its ups and downs. First of all, traveling with two adult male cats and a woman who wasn’t exactly a pet person in the confines of a four-door T-Bird wasn’t exactly going to become a Hallmark movie. The cats, Holmes and OJ, were never fond of travel either, so the trip was going to be interesting on many levels.
It was the recipe for chaos and hilarity…or disaster.
Our first leg of the trip took us from L.A. to Vegas. I had the back seat of the car set up for the cats…a carrier that stayed open, a fluffy goose down blanket, and a litter box in the floor…just in case. It turns out neither of the cats were going to be using that litter box while we were driving, but when we got to the various hotels across the country, they practically ran to it while pushing each other out of the way. Since we had to stay in pet friendly hotels, room service and five stars were out of the question. We were lucky to get a few rooms that came with a breakfast in the lobby.
My sweet, pretty, prim, and proper Cousin Becky discovered her inner gambler in Vegas, and we didn’t leave the casino till very late. We barely made check-out the next morning, but by noon we were on the road again…bleary-eyed and sleep deprived but heading east.
We decided to head to the Grand Canyon since Becky had never been, and while I had, I loved it, and who wouldn’t want to spend a night on the edge of something so beautiful? We did have a lovely room there, and I may or may not have told the desk clerk about the cats. We may or may not have surreptitiously slipped the cats and litter box into a snazzy hotel with a view of the canyon and, after getting them settled with the television on Animal Planet, gone down to have a delicious dinner in the hotel dining room while watching a magnificent sunset.
We were pretty proud of ourselves the next morning for pulling off such a ruse. I had the perfect plan for sneaking the boys back into the car and getting on the road. I took the fluffy goose down blanket out of the backseat and had Becky pull the car around to a side entrance. I tucked the cats under my arms, wrapped the blanket around all of us like Pocahontas, and stealthily meandered down the hall to the exit. Becky was there, the car was packed, and we had checked out already. Our timing was perfect!
Until a gardener decided to turn on his leaf blower.
If you aren’t a cat person or familiar with things cats hate, a leaf blower is definitely in the top ten of the list right under vacuum cleaners!
Just as I got to the car, but before I could open the door, the leaf blower started up. Suddenly my fluffy blanket began to squirm and wail. The cats were trying desperately to get away from the noise, and in doing so, both of them were using me as a kitty tree! Becky, realizing something may be amiss, jumped out of the car to help. By then, the cats were either furious, terrified, or both, so there was nothing she could do. I could feel their nails ripping my arms and expected to be standing in a puddle of blood at any minute.
People having breakfast on the hotel terrace were beginning to notice us, and I was praying none of the help would glance in our direction. I must have looked like a human sack full of ferrets as the cats were scrambling to get away from the god-awful noise. Since it was in the mid-80s, I’m sure people were wondering why I was wrapped in a mass of wiggling, yowling goosedown blanket.
“What can I do, Julia?” Becky yelped as she futilely tried to grab a squirming cat.
“Open the car door,” I squeaked back breathlessly, feeling every claw mark in my arms and envisioning how I was going to have to rent one of those mules tourists ride to the bottom of the canyon to search for my cats.
Becky ran to my side of the car and cracked open the car door. She knew once they were in the car, it wasn’t guaranteed they would STAY in the car if they could get out.
After a lot of squeezing, begging, praying, and pushing, I got both cats in the T-Bird and we slammed the door. Both of them immediately shoved themselves into the carrier and began to howl at the top of their little kitty lungs. The breakfast people were looking and pointing as Becky jumped behind the wheel and I squirmed into the passenger seat.
“Act natural,” I squealed as we drove down the tree-lined driveway of the hotel. I was wriggling out of the blanket and using yesterday’s Starbuck’s napkins and a bottle of water to clean up the blood on my arms.
“Good Lord, Julia!” Becky was aghast. “Are you ok? You look like you’ve been in a briar patch!”
And I really did. But my babies were safe! Royally pissed off, but safe and sound!
There were a few more mishaps and lot of laughs as we continued our trip, but we made it to S.C. and I did get hitched to my wonderful husband, Marty.
A short time later, between our return and the wedding, Becky came down with a case of shingles. When she found out stress could bring it on, guess who she blames to this day?
I’m just saying.
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