Short Trips with Cats

September 19, 2007

First of all, do not consider a long trip with a cat. That being said, let me repeat: no long trips with cats! I love cats, God bless them. They are my comfort and joy, my inspiration. They have been my companions for many years, but they have never been good travel companions.

Dogs seem to be made for travel. They love sticking their heads out of car windows - especially from the driver’s side. I know they’d stick their snouts out of airplane windows if they were able.

In Florida, it is State law to carry a dog in the bed of your pick-up truck. Well, it seems that way, anyway.

But cats don’t drive. They don’t chase after cars, whereas dogs are trying to take the steering wheel. Cats, I believe, feel that if they can’t get there by their own four feet, they’d just as soon stay home, thank you very much.

One of my first cats, Ballou, had to travel on the bus with us. We had no car, and the vet was too far away for a stroll. So we’d slip Ballou a mickey before the ride. But instead of sedating him, it merely got him drunk. And Ballou was a loud drunk! He’d howl like a drunken sailor the entire way.

PJ is the worse kind of backseat driver. She’ll complain and criticize to no end, wailing like an ambulance siren. At least we had a pick up truck at one point (not in Florida), and she would be relegated to her carrier in the back. In bad weather, she’d ride with us in the cab, but she’d have to wear the leash.

Kandy was a car howler, too. But we discovered that she would howl more or less in time with the CDs we played. She preferred the blues. Loved those sliding notes.

We lost Blackie on a trip once. He just refused to get back in the car for the return trip. It upset us to no end when he ran away. We eventually had to leave without him, the poor dear…

One year later, he showed up at the back door. The stubborn little guy just had to do it his way. He preferred walking for a year rather than spend another hour in the car with me. I’m hurt. But I’m astounded at the animal’s ability to navigate his way back home from the wilds of Vancouver’s lower mainland.

Wesley White Spot chose to walk, also. In another amazing display of feline intelligence, WWS heard the word “neuter” and took to the road that day. Last seen, he was living comfortably a few miles from here in the plentiful back lanes of Vancouver. Or maybe that was one of his offspring we saw.

Kitty McFidget was the story that never was. When we packed our car for a cross-country trip from Florida to British Columbia, KMF hopped right into the car and said, “Let’s go!”

Problem was she wasn’t our cat. She belonged to the neighbours across the street. With a tear in our eye, we had to coax our would-be traveling companion out of the Town and Country.

We made the trip in seven days, and wondered the entire way how McFidget would have fared. Would she have decided at some pit stop that she’d had enough? Would she have walked all the way back to Florida? Or just settle down in Baton Rouge, Flagstaff, Roswell, or Bakersfield?

If she made it to the Canadian border – what then? We looked into it, just to complete the “what if” questions. It turns out to be a rather simple process. Canadian immigration would allow a cat into the country even without the required shots. We would just have to fill out a form and submit later proof of subsequent shots.

She wouldn’t even have to learn French.

We have three cats at the moment. Our neighbours will feed them whenever we’re on the road.

About the author: Semi retired, I like to travel – petless – in order to experience in the varied and beautiful sights and sounds and smells and textures of the world.