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This story is now an award winner. It took top honors (without the benefit of the photos or whistles and bells included here) in the Board of Directors Non-fiction category at the Ozark Creative Writers in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
© 2000 John Achor
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My name is Lexus and I've decided to tell you the story of how my People uprooted me, and dragged me across half the country in what they call ... The Grand Adventure.
I suppose I should introduce myself and my People. I'm twenty-eight--Oh!, that's about four in people years--and my People are Pat and John. They're both around nine and a half--Oh, again! That's cat years. John and Pat Person are both pretty decent ... at least they feed me on a reasonable schedule and toss in back rubs and brushings on a regular basis. I'm a loveable female with an extremely sleek, luxurious coat. It's no wonder those auto folks named that car after me. I found Phoenix, Arizona a fine place to live. Since I'm an indoor type personality, what do I care that temperatures can hover above 110 degrees for weeks at a time.
I had a premonition of impending doom when the boxes began to pile up. The only way I could keep a rational handle on the situation was to ascend this ladder thing and observe the happenings from my aerie. "My," you say, "what an extensive command of the language." Just look at the picture above, and you'll see that I do study the dictionary quite a bit. I've learned quite a bit from that tome, albeit via osmosis.
Perhaps I should digress long enough to let you know that I am writing this missive. My command of English is far beyond what one might expect of a cat. It's my "cat" that's a bit lacking. You see, I came to my People from a Rescue group, and I was separated from my mother and siblings, as well as from other felines, at a rather early age. I had little time to be socialized into the world of cats, so the language you would normally expect from me consists mainly of chirps, purrs, and an occasional chin quiver which is a cross between a chirp and a purr. Those only occur when there's a bird, or at least a very large insect, in sight.
I also should warn you. Though, my language skills are awesome, I do have trouble with the time and space continuum. I also flunked geography. When Pat and John Person mentioned Arkansas I had no idea where it was or just how long it would take to get there.
Yes, I am writing this, however, I've asked John Person to do the typing. I can type, but keyboards were designed by someone who had no comprehension of feline anatomy. My paws tend to strike two or three keys at the same time. I can read it, but you folks might have a problem with it.
Back to the Grand Adventure. My People began moving furniture out of the house--said it had to do with shipping weight and the fact that this was the first long distance move they would have to make totally at their own expense. Imagine, stacks of drawers were all that was left of a huge chest and triple dresser just before a nice young man hauled them away.
Furniture, rugs, all sorts of belongings began to disappear. The only stable items in my environment were my food dish, some carpet remnants--that I commandeered after the treadmill went out the front door--my litter box and of course, MY afghan.
The fateful day loomed. I could tell even though Pat and John Person tried to keep if from me. They had purchased a new pet taxi. The old one, a hard shell plastic, didn't hold many--if any--pleasant memories. It was generally used to lug me to the vet's office or to the pet resort. The resort wasn't bad, but that vet! You can't imagine the indignities I suffered at the hands of those doctors. I mean, shots are bad enough, but when they want to take your temperature--ugh. I'll leave that to your imaginations.
Speaking of the vet, during our last visit he gave my People something called tranquilizers. He described them and said they would keep me calm, how to pop the pill down my throat--not likely--and that I should not be fed afterwards. Huh!--not likely either. Well, whatever they were, John Person decided to disguise one by pressing it into a couple of soft treats. The munchies were great and I really didn't pay much attention to that hard center. Small problem, I barfed yellow shortly after I downed the tranq laced treat. I managed to perform in a similar manner the second time John Person slipped me one of those things. That John Person tries hard, but a second clean-up cured him--no tranqs for the trip. I'm pretty mellow and I really didn't need them. Glad he didn't wait till we were in the car to test them. Can you imagine what he'd have said about yellow spit-up on his car seats.
They only used the new carrier for pleasant trips. John Person would mutter something about going out for yogurt, and off we'd go in the car. Them in the front seat and me in the back seat. They opened the top of my new taxi, but I'm too smart for them. Mostly I just stayed inside the carrier, though occasionally I ventured out onto the back seat. I could look out the windows while they sat there stuffing their faces with soft ice cream. When John Person said "we" were going for yogurt, it must have been the royal "we" pronoun. I don't remember getting any.
If you look real close at the picture of me and my pet taxi, you can see that blue thing my People call a harness. They put it on me even before we started our adventure. They said it was so I could get used to it. Like that's going to happen in this lifetime. Anyway, every time they open a door--in the car or in a motel--one of them grabs me by that harness. Sometimes they even hooked a leash to the harness. Said it was so I wouldn't run away. Like that's a possiblility--I'm an indoor person. "Better safe than sorry," my People said. Whatever keeps them happy.
It was happening. I was shoved into a bathroom along with food and my litter box. When they let me out, the house was completely empty. I had a sinking feeling and sure enough, into the car we went that afternoon. It was a short trip, we only ventured to the other side of town. My People said something about getting a jump on traffic the next morning, but I could tell they just wanted to test my staying ability in the back seat of a car and at a new house.
It looked like a house, but it sure was small; they referred to it as a motel. I explored this new abode from top to bottom and it was okay. No Taj Mahal, but it would due for a new home, and the bathroom floor had some really cool tile which was enjoyable.
Bright and early the next morning we were off again. Another car trip, and it didn't look like we were going to return to that new house--all my belongings were tossed into the back seat along with me in my carrier. Was I doomed to spend the rest of my life riding all day in a car to get to a new and different home every night. Maybe, maybe the next day would not be a repeat of this tiresome ritual.
Boy, was I wrong. We spent another entire day in the car. By now, I was concerned about Pat Person. She was nowhere in sight. John Person kept picking up this black rectangle thing--he called it a CeeBee--and he talked to it. The next thing I know, Pat Person is talking--I know because I can hear her voice--but she's still nowhere in sight. She must have been around somewhere; she kept appearing each time we stopped and each night in the new houses.
Finally I ventured out of my taxi and explored the back seat. By now I was in need of my litter box. It was not to be found. I did locate a funny looking container with some gravel in it on the floor of the back seat. It made a fine place to nap--took my mind off my bladder for a little while. I've heard that some seats in a car are more dangerous that others. But as any intelligent cat knows, the safest location is hunkered down on the floor in the back seat. Well, John Person got upset when he found me snoozing in the gravel. He put MY afghan on the back seat floor, and he put that container thing up on the back seat. He tried to coax me into it by playing with the gravel. No thanks.
I still needed a litter box. I explored the car and climbed into the front seat where I found a bit of food and water in my dishes on the floor. No litter box. I hated to do it, but when nature says that's all she wrote, that's all she wrote. I hopped into the back seat again leaving a small wet spot on the front floor mat. To say that John Person was not a happy camper would be an understatement. I couldn't believe he'd forgotten to bring a litter box. The next thing I know, he's wiping up my piddle-puddle with an old T-shirt rag and then he puts that in my new gravel snooze box. Oh! A lightening bolt of realization. Could he be trying to tell me that this is a litter box? Well, if it is, why did he wait till we're on the road to introduce me to it? It doesn't look like a litter box; mine is a hard shell with a cover and filled with sand. This new thing is soft plastic, a different shape, a different color, no lid, and there's only this gravel stuff in it.
From his gyrations, I finally figure John Person does want me to use this thing as a litter box. Okay, whiz, whiz. Then that night, John Person cleans out this new litter thing. I mean he really gets it clean. Next day, I had trouble telling it was the correct spot to deposit my waste products. I tell you, that boy tries hard, but sometimes he's a couple cans short of a six-pack.
The day ends and we go to another home. Not any bigger than the one we just left. It must be one of those motel things again. Here we meet my uncle. I don't know why they call him an uncle, he's their son. I explore this new house and guess what? They put the beds on top of a wooden box--and if you're real clever you can locate the entrance. From under there, I can hear my People and my uncle looking all over the room for me. I just smile and hunker down in my nice dark hiding place. Ha! If they can't find me, we'll never have to leave this new house.
Bummer. The next thing I know, John Person and Uncle Mark are lifting the bed up off the wood frame. Pat Person pulls me out and they stuff the bed spreads around the end and sides of the bed. I can't find any doorway into my new found hiding place. Occasionally, my People are smarter than they look.
We packed up for what I assumed would be another day in the car--right again. After what seemed to be an interminable period of time we arrived at still another of those motel-homes. I know it was different, 'cause I checked out every inch of it. This house also had a pretty neat window ledge which I put to good use. So this is Oklahoma City--hmmm, looks a lot like what I'd been seeing out the other windows. Here I was introduced to another relative--they called her Aunt Kathy--another one of their progeny. What with the path to the spot under the beds blocked, it was a boring time for me while they went out to dinner.
Next morning, same drill. I did perk up when I heard my People say something about this being our last day on the road; it's about time folks. The day started off bad--drizzling rain as we loaded the cars--and got worse. According to John Person, we had seven hours of constant rain. Sometimes so hard he could barely see the road. In fact he said, "In fifty years of driving, I've never seen storms this bad." I guess that's bad, how long is fifty years?
We turned south off the interstate and the sun came out. We had great weather all the way into Hot Springs Village. At last a good omen and a permanent place to stay.
This one really was a house; it had real furniture. No more of this one room stuff. Permanent, Ha! Two nights in this place, and then we moved again. Thank heavens this time it only took a few minutes. I'm getting settled into this really permanent home. My People put my carpet remnants down on the floor for me and MY afghan is on a window seat where I can get some sun and enjoy the view. Got to tell you, this Arkansas place is more interesting than Arizona. The bugs are bigger and just the other day a furry little critter with a bushy tail came up on the deck so I could scope him out.
There are lots of places to explore, like the tops of the book cases in the living room and the closet where Pat Person keeps her clothes. Then there's a new place like I've never seen before.
They call it the over-the-John storage place. Wow, that boy even has places in a house named after him. Sure is a neat spot for a kitty to sack out and grab a nap.
I'm glad we made the trip, but I sure am happy that we won't be doing any more traveling. This new place is very nice, and my People said we're here to stay. They mumbled something about building a new house. I'm not sure what that entails, but we're in this permanent home for six months. Guess that means no more car trips.
Can anyone out there tell me what six months means?
© 2003 John Achor
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