It will probably come as no surprise to my readers for my second blog post to be about my cat. At least my cat did something interesting and you will be spared many sentences about his furry coat, cute face and devotion to Mr. Floporama and me.
Mr. Floporama has moved to O--------- and in my gradual process to rejoin him, Finneran was preparing for a move unaware. Mr. Floporama took him for his first vet visit on my birthday (great present) last October. The very skilled veterinarian gave Finneran his first shots since adoption without removing him from the cage—lucky. Never the less, Finneran had a howling fit about the conditions and being subject to leaving his castle the entire ½ hour trip.
My choices were becoming clear to me. Either I could move Finneran to Oregon over the Christmas Holiday when I already had a ticket booked and torture more travelers, or I could take Finneran with me on a sudden all-expenses-paid house hunting trip this weekend. Though I will be completely distraught without ANYONE at home, I decided to be merciful and spare the increased number of holiday travelers.
Delta’s website leads you to believe that you must take a cat for an “inspection” vet visit and bring documents of that nature to the airport before charging you $75 for the animal to sit in your leg room. Finneran HATED this trip to the vet because he was indeed forced out of his cage. He stayed in a defensive ball the entire time. The vet said his teeth were quite bad and moved around to look under his tail only to then be surprised the cat didn’t have a tail because he was so hunched over. Much hissing later at the poodle in the waiting room, we were told we could go home after the $33 bill. At least this included drugs to give the cat for the journey.
The departure day arrived. It broke my heart to wake up with the cat snuggled in bed like usual and to think that it was his last sleep in our very cute little house. I came home from a less than fabulous work day only to be cheered about my departure to see Mr. Floporama, and be even more anxious about the cat.
Please take a moment and imagine a very nervous cat and myself with a syringe.
Fortunately, the vet actually gave me pills. I ground the pills up and put them in a can of Fancy Feast—we pause now for a product endorsement.
Finneran started moving slower, but was still definitely moving as I hoped he wouldn’t be in the ½ hour of time the drugs were supposed to kick in. We had the same fight about getting into the cage and he howled and told me how mad he was. He even used the guilty meow. I loaded him into my car and we were off. I however had to stop and go to a Christmas work dinner with no choice but to leave Finneran in the car—which of course made me feel like a horrible parent. I knew full well that he had a fur coat, but it still felt cruel to leave him in the 32 degree weather.
After the dinner, I sped to the airport and surprisingly Finneran was quite calm. I thought there was a chance that the drugs were working. But no.
We parked, we got on the shuttle bus and he let everyone know not to come near his cage. Once at the check-in gate Fineran was being his usual self and telling everyone that he was NOT happy to make their acquaintance. And then the joyful ticket agent—who told me that Finneran sounded like the type to want to bite your hand off—informed me that she didn’t need proof of good health or vaccinations, but that I would be required to take him out of the cage to go through the metal detector.
YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.
Finneran and I had a fight in the security line. Eventually with the person behind me’s help, we managed to pry all four limbs of the cat out of the cage to walk through the metal detector. I don’t know what I would have done if they’d decided to have the “puff machine” operating that night. Finneran was however happy to get back in his cage. We then set off for the very farthest gate in the entire airport which is where they board my flight every time. If I had a dollar for every funny look we got as we meowed by, I would have been able to afford to have him professionally moved.
Finneran notified everyone that he was in the waiting area—just what was in those drugs? A megaphone? Next time—definitely double dose. I felt very sorry for the passengers because it was obvious that there would be a small child AND a cat on the flight, and ironically we were seated one row apart.
Finneran however was remarkably quiet for the flight. I thought he might be dead. Mr. Floporama decided later that he must hate being carried. The flight had a headwind but I was never so happy to arrive.
Mr. Floporama escorted us to our temporary dwelling—and then the drugs kicked in. Our loopy cat has always been known to be a wuss. And here he was exploring the entire apartment. He was leaping from the kitchen to the living room, exploring all of the window sills and bedrooms; Making himself quite comfortable. Mr. Floporama and I were very surprised. We were expecting a cowardly cat for at least a week to be the chief resident of under the bed.
Which is exactly what we got, the next day after the drugs wore off and his pupils returned to normal. I’m sure my parents will be disappointed, but I swear to never move this cat again so I guess I’ll be living in this state until he dies.
Mr. Floporama has moved to O--------- and in my gradual process to rejoin him, Finneran was preparing for a move unaware. Mr. Floporama took him for his first vet visit on my birthday (great present) last October. The very skilled veterinarian gave Finneran his first shots since adoption without removing him from the cage—lucky. Never the less, Finneran had a howling fit about the conditions and being subject to leaving his castle the entire ½ hour trip.
My choices were becoming clear to me. Either I could move Finneran to Oregon over the Christmas Holiday when I already had a ticket booked and torture more travelers, or I could take Finneran with me on a sudden all-expenses-paid house hunting trip this weekend. Though I will be completely distraught without ANYONE at home, I decided to be merciful and spare the increased number of holiday travelers.
Delta’s website leads you to believe that you must take a cat for an “inspection” vet visit and bring documents of that nature to the airport before charging you $75 for the animal to sit in your leg room. Finneran HATED this trip to the vet because he was indeed forced out of his cage. He stayed in a defensive ball the entire time. The vet said his teeth were quite bad and moved around to look under his tail only to then be surprised the cat didn’t have a tail because he was so hunched over. Much hissing later at the poodle in the waiting room, we were told we could go home after the $33 bill. At least this included drugs to give the cat for the journey.
The departure day arrived. It broke my heart to wake up with the cat snuggled in bed like usual and to think that it was his last sleep in our very cute little house. I came home from a less than fabulous work day only to be cheered about my departure to see Mr. Floporama, and be even more anxious about the cat.
Please take a moment and imagine a very nervous cat and myself with a syringe.
Fortunately, the vet actually gave me pills. I ground the pills up and put them in a can of Fancy Feast—we pause now for a product endorsement.
Finneran started moving slower, but was still definitely moving as I hoped he wouldn’t be in the ½ hour of time the drugs were supposed to kick in. We had the same fight about getting into the cage and he howled and told me how mad he was. He even used the guilty meow. I loaded him into my car and we were off. I however had to stop and go to a Christmas work dinner with no choice but to leave Finneran in the car—which of course made me feel like a horrible parent. I knew full well that he had a fur coat, but it still felt cruel to leave him in the 32 degree weather.
After the dinner, I sped to the airport and surprisingly Finneran was quite calm. I thought there was a chance that the drugs were working. But no.
We parked, we got on the shuttle bus and he let everyone know not to come near his cage. Once at the check-in gate Fineran was being his usual self and telling everyone that he was NOT happy to make their acquaintance. And then the joyful ticket agent—who told me that Finneran sounded like the type to want to bite your hand off—informed me that she didn’t need proof of good health or vaccinations, but that I would be required to take him out of the cage to go through the metal detector.
YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.
Finneran and I had a fight in the security line. Eventually with the person behind me’s help, we managed to pry all four limbs of the cat out of the cage to walk through the metal detector. I don’t know what I would have done if they’d decided to have the “puff machine” operating that night. Finneran was however happy to get back in his cage. We then set off for the very farthest gate in the entire airport which is where they board my flight every time. If I had a dollar for every funny look we got as we meowed by, I would have been able to afford to have him professionally moved.
Finneran notified everyone that he was in the waiting area—just what was in those drugs? A megaphone? Next time—definitely double dose. I felt very sorry for the passengers because it was obvious that there would be a small child AND a cat on the flight, and ironically we were seated one row apart.
Finneran however was remarkably quiet for the flight. I thought he might be dead. Mr. Floporama decided later that he must hate being carried. The flight had a headwind but I was never so happy to arrive.
Mr. Floporama escorted us to our temporary dwelling—and then the drugs kicked in. Our loopy cat has always been known to be a wuss. And here he was exploring the entire apartment. He was leaping from the kitchen to the living room, exploring all of the window sills and bedrooms; Making himself quite comfortable. Mr. Floporama and I were very surprised. We were expecting a cowardly cat for at least a week to be the chief resident of under the bed.
Which is exactly what we got, the next day after the drugs wore off and his pupils returned to normal. I’m sure my parents will be disappointed, but I swear to never move this cat again so I guess I’ll be living in this state until he dies.
1 comment:
the blog was worth the wait. bravo. bravo. i'll miss that unfriendly cat...
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