On The Road Again
Well, as a travelling cat, completely at home on a giant floating thingy that goes whomp, whomp, whomp in the night and sometimes (notice above) makes me want to regurgitate even my minimal kibble cuisine (but I don’t, you see—I just make everyone nervous about it and then I go into the closet and ride out the waves until the next leg of the journey)—I am accustomed to boats, trains and planes (well not trains or planes yet, but I’m getting there) that take me on adventures that perhaps most kitties do not have and may never have.
This return from The Eternal City, the hoards of tourists hoping for a hello from Papa Francesco (or at least a good pizza) began in the car, segued onto the Grimaldi ferry to Barcelona, where it moved into the car again as mama and papa and I got lost near the stadium where Champion’s League was about to be played between Bayern and Barsa and then fell into heavy traffic through which we painstakingly made very little headway until we finally found the street leading to the hotel, into which we all checked, I, Loulou, being included as the first live animal the hotel had allowed in its history (do they allow dead ones? fur coats, maybe), and so we settled in as I studied the placement of my kitty box (bathtub? under desk on large plastic sheet?)
and mama and papa went off down the street to a hotel TV to see Barcelona massacred by Bayern and then they came back all sad and I myowed, well, actually, peeped, most of the night while they tried to figure out why I was peeping and so they had no sleep.
I had to suffer in that hotel (no room service for kitties) while they both had their respective teeth cleaned down the street, which is traumatic in itself after a long trip on a ferry and a lost soccer match and so I peeped my concerns for all of this.
Over a mouse in a fairly uptown hotel? No way. Previous tenants whose particular spoor was not to my liking?
None of the above. I just wanted to GET OUT OF THERE AND GET TO MY GARDEN (and the turtledoves at whom I could grit my teeth and those little cheepin’, poopin’, chirpin’ hoppers who hang around outside my window each morning waiting for their 7-grain cereal toasts that mama steps on to make crumbs for their precious little breakfast!
So that’s why I peeped most of the night (which I never do) and why mama and papa are completely wasted right now and about to hit the sack with all four paws.
But…it’s true, Dorothy: There’s no place like home, and that goes for both countries.
And yet…the vagabond is in my blood.
I’m checking my kitty passport just so it’s up to date for the next adventure. This kitty will be on the road again in no time…
