I don't have a toddler. But I do have a cat... a cat who, on occasions, has to be put in the back of a car and driven over to Adelaide because I am too stingy to put him in a cattery as my friends' cat sitting credits are running thin. Also, despite having to be crated in the car for up to ten hours, when we get to our final destination, he's a joy.
It's just the getting him in and out of the car that's the problem.
But he's such a toddler. This is my toddler. He's got the face on.
Case in point. He's been quite happy stuck in my bedroom at Mum's for the last few days, choosing to hide out under the bedside table. He didn't have to do this, but he feels safe under there, and by the end of the stay, he was coming out a lot more.
A couple of times a day, we'd close off the front of the house where Mum's cat, Bart, would sleep most of the day. The two met twice. From the sounds of it, we'd started World War Three. After these encounters, Bart quit his sleeping and started patrolling the house. Bart normally sleeps about 20 hours a day. For the last few days Bart's been a lot more active, making sure that the "Black Bastard" as nowhere in spitting distance. Mind you, Bart is already out of sorts. He's got the hump with my stepdad for putting him in a cage on the back of the ute with a tarp over him, to take him to the new digs. He was perfectly safe and fine, but he's still ignoring Graham some three weeks after the move.
That is one big advantage about travelling with a cat, over travelling with a toddler - you don't have to wrangle them into a car seat...
See, do one thing wrong with Bart and you're personae non-grata.
Bart doesn't have a poker face.
Anyway, today was the day Lucifer and I drove back to Melbourne.
I packed the car last night, setting up his crate, with bedding, some dry food, water and a litter tray. He didn't seem too fussed about it all the movement. I did this over a few hours so not to freak him out. This morning, I had breakfast, showered, put the last of the stuff in the car. The last thing I did was scoop up the lad to take him out the waiting car.
What I didn't bank on was Bart, sitting near the back door.
Lucifer wanted to go him. Bart wanted to thump the crap out of Lucifer.
For six kilos of black moggy, he's bloody strong. And argumentative. Instead of taking a calm pussycat the 20 meters from my room to the car, I had to take this spitting, wriggling bundle of fur out, hanging onto him for dear life, because if he got out, he'd either injure Bart or get under the house. Neither was an acceptable outcome.
And even though, I got speared by his claws in the battle to keep him in my arms, he tumbled into the cage with only a few complaints.
And we were on the road. 777 kilometres of country driving, with my cat.
To give him his dues, he's good in the car. Mostly, every hour, on the hour, I get a "Meow, meow?", the cat version of "Are we there yet?"
But...
Occasionally, a paw will reach out of the cage to pat my arm. You know, that toddler thing when they come up to annoy you by touching you. From a cat, it's very sweet.
What's very toddler like is every time I talked on the phone, (which I do, often, on the hands free, particularly going over the Wimmera, which is flat and boring) and somebody in the back starts howling. Every, single, phone call. Start to talk to your mate and he has to get in on it, as if to say, "She's a bitch and she'd kidnapping me and will you save me?"
He will do that to me at home when he wants attention, but in the car, he has a captive audience. Every bloody phone call.
The other bit of toddler behaviour which had me in stitches occurred coming out of Horsham.
There was a scratching in the litter box.
He did a poo.
Anybody who's had an inside cat will know how much cat excrement stinks. In a car, it's doubly awful.
And he sat there and howled, letting me know how much this turd stank. Like I didn't know! Just like a toddler, who has to let you know that they've done their business. Thankfully, there was a rest area a few kilometres down the road. The offending turd was scooped into an empty Macca's bag (it's almost compulsory to have a dirty Maccas on a long drive) and the lot was placed in a bin.
We arrived home ten hours after we left Encounter Bay, with pit stops at Tailem Bend, Bordertown, Horsham Maccas and BP for fuel, and Ballan Services. Not a bad run at all.
He complained about being transferred into his carrier so I could get him upstairs.
He's now asleep on the bed, after a big dinner and a drink, like nothing has happened. Just like a toddler.
And that's travels with my cat for another year.
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