Raising Arizona

I've been feeling anxious lately. Impending uprootings have the tendency to do that to a person. So, naturally, in an effort to take a little pressure off myself I have been finding ways to manifest my own anxieties into other areas of my life. Kitty happens to be one of these areas.

I am going to be taking my cat and my car to Iowa at the same time. That, obviously, means a multi-day road trip for my (very firmly) homebound cat. Well, he did fly home once, but he was still a kitten then and you can basically do anything to a kitten and he's not really going to know what's going on. So, I've gotten into the habit of worrying about him and how he's going to react to the move. In the long process of worrying I actually come to some kind of a decision. I am going to acclimate Kitty to riding in the car. I am going to have a car buddy.

So the other day I am dicking around on the computer and Kitty is sound asleep next to me.

"Perfect," I think, "sleepy cats don't squirm much."

So I grab the cat and a film I need to take back to Casa and toss them both in the car. Kitty looks quite annoyed but that's about it. This is such a good idea.

So I start the car and suddenly his entire body goes jellibones. He turns into a soupy, shaky, orangy blob in the passenger seat of the car. Ok, so it's going to take a little getting used to. I pull out.

Kitty doesn't move besides the steady body quaking all the way to Casa. I am starting to feel a bit bad. We make it and I leave him in the car. He just needs to be alone with it for a while. He'll explore.

I get back to a kitty in the exact same state. I am a jerk.

We head home and about halfway there I take my hand off his back to shift after a stop light. Without looking up, Kitty moves one little paw over his eyes and actually starts to hyperventilate.


I AM A MONSTER.

All I want to do is pull the car over, scoop him into my arms right then and there and sob while I apologize profusely and promise him he'll never have to see the inside of a car again and we'll never have to leave Tucson ever ever. EVER.

But I keep driving and he keeps making that little huffing noise and when we get home it takes me five minutes to coax him out of the car and back onto the familiar gravel. He finally regains his footing and begins a hasty retreat in the direction of my neighbors open door while I began a pretty profound dread of preschool and Daisy Scouts.