Travelling Felinity

I found this journal entry the other day. It was written on a piece torn from a cat food bag and shoved down into the corner of the cat box. I believe my dearest B wrote it on our recent Car Trip From Hell. Enjoy.

Day 490 of my Captivity-

The humans, who have been ransacking the apartment for the last two days, have made a new move. This morning, they stuck a pill down my throat and shoved me in a box. I think the pink mousie they put in with me was supposed to make me more comfortable. I sneer at their pathetic attempts and I made my displeasure known very soon. They had put The Box into... I think I heard it called "The Car." I vocalized my discomfort, but my mom just ignored me. Hmmm. We'll see what we can do about that. I proceeded to empty my bladder and bowels in The Box and that got mom to stop The Car really fast. I was not removed from the box, unfortunately. The cloth under me was removed and discarded (fine by me, it stank of other cats anyway).

Once back in The Car, I spent AGES and AGES trying to get mom to stop again, but to no avail. She did let me out of The Box once to use the litter box facilities. I figured it was better than The Box, so I laid down. Mom was not amused.

Once the car finally stopped, we were somewhere painfully hot, particularly when one is wearing the finest fur. Somewhere called "Vegas," but I also heard it called, "Hell." Mom said that.

I was removed from the box, to my great delight, but was just moved to a different box. True, it was bigger and had food, water, and my litter box, but it was NOT the five star accomodations I was hoping for. My one consolation is that I got to keep waking up mom during the night. I figure she deserves it for putting me through this.

Day 491 of my Captivity-

I'm in the damned Box again! Mom is going to pay.

I did catch up on some sleep today, but I seriously dislike corners... and loud music. Mom was playing some music by someone she called U2... and singing. God, she was singing along with them. I thought I was going to lose it.

Actually, I did lose it a little bit. OK, a lot. But, again, mom deserved it! We stopped somewhere along the line and they let me OUT of The Box! Joy of joys! I was on a leash and harness, but still a little freedom does a lot for a girl's psyche. I wandered in the cool grass, sniffed the miraculous smells, and drank some water. All was well.

Wait, what?! They want me to get back in The Box again! No way! I got out of the harness and made a break for it, but MOM caught me. Damn her. She was really pissing me off, so I latched on and into her flesh. And I did a damned fine job. She had blood flowing freely down her creepy white skin. She needs fur, in my opinion. I was back in The Box again... Sigh.

When I thought it was all over at last, I found myself in a house with THREE other cats. What is it mom says? Oh, yeah. WHAT THE HELL?!

Yeah, we had good times on that drive. Clearly.

My war wounds have almost healed, thanks to Vitamin E and an early application of Neosporin. Many thanks to Pascal and Ang for putting up with us in Vegas. And many more thanks to the pharmacy in Fillmore, Utah for the roll of gauze, the tube of antibiotic ointment, and the use of their scissors. And to my mom and dad, for not having killed the cat yet.

Obviously, she's adjusted just fine. The other cats are still working on not hating her ever-breathing guts. The adventure continues.

We're Not in Burbank Anymore, Baby!

So, last weekend, I drove to Vegas. Memorial Day weekend... Vegas... Yes, I am insane.

My pseudo-uncle moved to Vegas and I followed him in his car.

Why, you ask?

To retrieve my beloved Miata.

Ah, perfect sense.

Yes, my cherubs, my car is once again mine. Huzzah! It is pristinely clean and running like a dream. No more busses for me.

But, that's not what this post is about. Oh, no. This post is about The Drive to Vegas. (Dun, dun dun.)

First of all, I was cruising along behind the U-Haul truck, trying to stay awake and a PT cruiser... well, cruised past me and the back window had an ad for "Hookah Parties" on it. (I love living somewhere where that can happen.) I had to call my auntie and cheer.

Second was the place in Baker where you can buy "Alien Fresh Jerky." I don't really need to say more about that. The pictures it creates in your mind do it more justice than I ever could.

Third was the temperature in Baker. F***ing hot is the only way to describe it. Seriously. I'm a girl with a pretty decent vocabulary, but that is the only word that is accurate enough. I'm sure it wasn't even the hottest it could be either. I got out of the car, almost fell down, and thought, "I really need to go back to Burbank."

Another reason why I desperately wanted to get the hell out of Baker was the pleasant up-standing gentleman lurking outside of the gas station. Let's see if I can describe him without hurling all over my keyboard. He was 80,000 years old and shirtless. (Nice.) Sunburnt to within an inch of his life and with three inches of tighty-whity showing above the waistband of his none-so-nice jeans. One crutch (for drama, I suppose) and a cigarette hanging off his lip (for emphyzema, I suppose).

My cousin, who was in a rotten mood and convinced that I had the keys to the truck, kept trying to rifle my pockets while dear old dad was going potty. Well, Mr. Clean made some remark about how dear lil cuz really just wanted to feel me up. Needless to say, I didn't ask him to elaborate.

All in all, I got a good blog post and a car out of the whole shebang, so I figure I came out on top.

Although, when I stopped in Baker on the way home, I was very glad to see that Prince Charming was no longer there. Maybe he went down the road to get some alien jerky.