CAT ON A PLANE...be very afraid Part 2 of the Moving to Texas Series
Yes, even though it says part 2, part 1 has
not been released yet. Similar to the way I like to read a magazine
from back to front, that is how I am posting this series, entitled
Moving To Texas. Think of it as a very cool Star Warzy trilogy in
reverse kind of a funky thing. Or else just be confused and
understand I have my reasons.
So the decision has been made, the die has been cast, so to speak.
The cat, yes the cat in the picture - who goes by the name of "Kitty" is going to be shoved under the
seat in front of me on the flight from NC to Texas. No she didn't
just swallow a bowling ball. She is 16 pounds of fury on a teeny tiny little
frame. She simply lives to EAT. I guess you could call her a Foodie
Cat. If I was a cat, I would be her.
The whole thing starts early in the morning with drugging the beast.
I jam 1/2 of the vet-issued pink sedative down her throat and
lock her in the library until it takes effect. There is much
yowling coming from the room until it suddenly ceases. Either the
sedative has taken effect or she is dead. I look in on her tentatively. She is
stoned out of her mind. I can almost hear a Doors song playing in
the background.
Sing with me:
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I were to say to you
Girl we couldn' t much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fi-yair"
I briefly entertain the idea of dressing her up in funny clothes
while she is in this completely pliable state. Oh how we love to
dress up our animals for a rip roarin good time made all the better
not been released yet. Similar to the way I like to read a magazine
from back to front, that is how I am posting this series, entitled
Moving To Texas. Think of it as a very cool Star Warzy trilogy in
reverse kind of a funky thing. Or else just be confused and
understand I have my reasons.
So the decision has been made, the die has been cast, so to speak.
The cat, yes the cat in the picture - who goes by the name of "Kitty" is going to be shoved under the
seat in front of me on the flight from NC to Texas. No she didn't
just swallow a bowling ball. She is 16 pounds of fury on a teeny tiny little
frame. She simply lives to EAT. I guess you could call her a Foodie
Cat. If I was a cat, I would be her.
The whole thing starts early in the morning with drugging the beast.
I jam 1/2 of the vet-issued pink sedative down her throat and
lock her in the library until it takes effect. There is much
yowling coming from the room until it suddenly ceases. Either the
sedative has taken effect or she is dead. I look in on her tentatively. She is
stoned out of her mind. I can almost hear a Doors song playing in
the background.
Sing with me:
You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I were to say to you
Girl we couldn' t much higher
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fi-yair"
I briefly entertain the idea of dressing her up in funny clothes
while she is in this completely pliable state. Oh how we love to
dress up our animals for a rip roarin good time made all the better
if you can tell they are embarrassed. I'm thinking the
pink hoodie with the big embroidered flower. But wait, no, the little
plaid dress with pearl buttons WOULD make a stunning traveling frock,
no?
But then, as I gaze into her creepy drugged out eyes complete with
dilated pupils, a modicum of sympathy washes over me, and I abandon my
evil plan.
At the appointed departure time, I pour Kitty Hendrix into her
regulation sized carrier and off we go to the airport. During the
drive, I deliver a strongly worded lecture to the children about not drawing
attention to the cat. Not because we didn't pay the ridiculous $85 fee for her to
pink hoodie with the big embroidered flower. But wait, no, the little
plaid dress with pearl buttons WOULD make a stunning traveling frock,
no?
But then, as I gaze into her creepy drugged out eyes complete with
dilated pupils, a modicum of sympathy washes over me, and I abandon my
evil plan.
At the appointed departure time, I pour Kitty Hendrix into her
regulation sized carrier and off we go to the airport. During the
drive, I deliver a strongly worded lecture to the children about not drawing
attention to the cat. Not because we didn't pay the ridiculous $85 fee for her to
merely sit under the seat in front of me, because we did oh we did,
but I didn't want any secret airline agent types to discover some horrid oversight of mine
regarding the carrier which would force us to miss our flight. My paranoia regarding that topic
regarding the carrier which would force us to miss our flight. My paranoia regarding that topic
will make more sense when you read the precursor to this entry. That's right the one that I will post
later. Nevermind.
But back to our agreement not to call undue attention to ourselves...they
are all so discreet and smart, my beautiful children. They nod their heads furiously in
agreement. We are a united front that's what we are.
Everything goes so smoothly at the airport. So smoothly in fact it
makes me nervous. Things NEVER go smoothly for me at the airport and
9 times out of 10 I am the frantic woman you see at the front
counter demanding to 'speak to someone with a brain' whilst my family looks
are all so discreet and smart, my beautiful children. They nod their heads furiously in
agreement. We are a united front that's what we are.
Everything goes so smoothly at the airport. So smoothly in fact it
makes me nervous. Things NEVER go smoothly for me at the airport and
9 times out of 10 I am the frantic woman you see at the front
counter demanding to 'speak to someone with a brain' whilst my family looks
on in horror and tries in vain to pretend they don't know me. It's not pretty, and I'm
not proud of it. What can I say? Something just snaps inside of me when I am jerked
around by the airlines. Therapy may help. Or drugs, possibly.
Any-who. We get to security and are informed that we have won a free trip to
the EXTRA SPECIAL EXTRA BURDENSOME PERSONAL SEARCH area for the unbridled rifling through of our things and the unasked for physical contact. This seems to be the norm when you buy a one way ticket. All 5 of us. Me, the 3
kids and the cat. I'm thinking: "F".( Just the letter, not the whole
word of course. The letter doesn't mean anything bad. Just a letter
for Pete's sake.) I am envisioning losing Kitty forever over this.
So they tell me I have to take the cat out of the bag.
not proud of it. What can I say? Something just snaps inside of me when I am jerked
around by the airlines. Therapy may help. Or drugs, possibly.
Any-who. We get to security and are informed that we have won a free trip to
the EXTRA SPECIAL EXTRA BURDENSOME PERSONAL SEARCH area for the unbridled rifling through of our things and the unasked for physical contact. This seems to be the norm when you buy a one way ticket. All 5 of us. Me, the 3
kids and the cat. I'm thinking: "F".( Just the letter, not the whole
word of course. The letter doesn't mean anything bad. Just a letter
for Pete's sake.) I am envisioning losing Kitty forever over this.
So they tell me I have to take the cat out of the bag.
And I'm like, "OHHHH, so that's what that expression means. Get it? I have to let the cat
out of the bag?" and the TSA agent, who clearly has no sense of humor just stares at me and says,
out of the bag?" and the TSA agent, who clearly has no sense of humor just stares at me and says,
"Do you understand me?"
And I wanted to say, "Chill dude." in my best Crush the turtle imitation, but I decided to be a big girl.
So - I proceed to unzip the bag and pour Rainbow Kitty out on the floor and gather her up. Thank
God she doesn't run away. I dared not look her in the eyes. Then the poor
woman whose job it is to pat me and the cat down takes one horrified
look at Kitty and says, (quite unprofessionally, I might add):
"Oh Lawdy, will she scratch me or bite me?"
And instead of being the good person that I really am deep deep DEEP down
on the inside and reassure her soothingly that Kitty is drugged to high
heaven and couldn't possibly do such a thing,
So - I proceed to unzip the bag and pour Rainbow Kitty out on the floor and gather her up. Thank
God she doesn't run away. I dared not look her in the eyes. Then the poor
woman whose job it is to pat me and the cat down takes one horrified
look at Kitty and says, (quite unprofessionally, I might add):
"Oh Lawdy, will she scratch me or bite me?"
And instead of being the good person that I really am deep deep DEEP down
on the inside and reassure her soothingly that Kitty is drugged to high
heaven and couldn't possibly do such a thing,
I am ashamed to say that I seize this golden egg of an
opportunity (surely the only chance I will ever have to screw
with a TSA employee because normally that sort of thing would land
you in jail) and with my best dead serious face I say,
"Most likely". The poor dear's eyes get as big as saucers and she
tentatively proceeds with her frantic "pat down" which now consists mostly of
light airy movements around the cat whilst not actually touching her - It was a weird
opportunity (surely the only chance I will ever have to screw
with a TSA employee because normally that sort of thing would land
you in jail) and with my best dead serious face I say,
"Most likely". The poor dear's eyes get as big as saucers and she
tentatively proceeds with her frantic "pat down" which now consists mostly of
light airy movements around the cat whilst not actually touching her - It was a weird
kind of feel the force field kind of a pat down.
So the moral is, if you ever really want to smuggle something onto a plane and you need
a foolproof plan, call me. I will rent Big Momma out for a small cut.
It works like a charm. But I don't endorse smuggling of any kind, of
course. Unless it is a bottle of water - because that just ticks me
off that we can't bring that on the plane. But come to think of it,
I don't think any one of us would really want to drink from a bottle
of water that has spent any amount of time up a cat's rear end. If you
don't include yourself in that category of people, stop reading this
immediately and head to your nearest psychiatric facility. NOW.
All during this good/bad time (depending on how you look at it),
a foolproof plan, call me. I will rent Big Momma out for a small cut.
It works like a charm. But I don't endorse smuggling of any kind, of
course. Unless it is a bottle of water - because that just ticks me
off that we can't bring that on the plane. But come to think of it,
I don't think any one of us would really want to drink from a bottle
of water that has spent any amount of time up a cat's rear end. If you
don't include yourself in that category of people, stop reading this
immediately and head to your nearest psychiatric facility. NOW.
All during this good/bad time (depending on how you look at it),
my oh-so-discreet children are pointing at the cat and laughing.
Yeah, that really doesn't draw any attention to her at all. I see small children
in line behind me clutching their Mommy's hands and pointing
at Kitty. They act like she is some kind of circus sideshow.
"World's Biggest Cat" or "The Amazing CatPig" or some such thing. Frankly, I'm a little offended.
Go back to your business folks, nothing to see here. Unless of course you pony up $5 each.
Where was I? Ah yes. We head to the gate and plunk our sorry party
down to wait. My first order of Mommy Business (hey and write this
down if you are a new Mommy - for future reference) is to order all of
my children to the bathroom. There are just too many things that can
go wrong when you let your kids use the airplane potty .
Where was I? Ah yes. We head to the gate and plunk our sorry party
down to wait. My first order of Mommy Business (hey and write this
down if you are a new Mommy - for future reference) is to order all of
my children to the bathroom. There are just too many things that can
go wrong when you let your kids use the airplane potty .
(warning: sidetrack coming)
Like the time our middle son - then aged 5 got himself locked in the airplane's fine facilities
and couldn't get out. And he was screaming bloody freaking murder and flinging his
body against the door and crying and yelling things like "HELP ME HELPME OH GOD HELP ME."
body against the door and crying and yelling things like "HELP ME HELPME OH GOD HELP ME."
I kid you not, it was worse than most 911 recorded calls I've heard of people on the precipice of
certain death.
Everyone on the plane could hear it.
And I'm all comfy in my seat drinking my complimentary
soda and thinking to myself, "Someone needs to get their Freak of a Child from Hades off of this plane."
I was so judgmental, so uncharitable, so uncaring. Then it dawned on me as I glanced at
the empty seat next to me. That was my Freak of a Child. And now I
would have to walk the long ass gauntlet of passengers who were
certainly having the horrid unsympathetic thoughts that were mine mere
moments ago- and retrieve said Freak and walk BACK through the same
gauntlet again with him. And do it smiling and acting like a concerned
parent not a pissed off bi-oche. I don't know what is so hard about
walking over hot coals in bare feet for goodness sake. Give me a break.
Where was I ? Oh yeah, so make your Freaks kiddos go to the
bathroom at the airport BEFORE you take off. . They WILL argue and
say they don't have to go. Some will even whip up some tears. Ignore it all and
get louder. Hint: the louder you get the more embarrassed of you
they will become and the faster they will do what you ask just to make
you stop being loud and embarrassing. It works, really. Or for bonus points, try singing the command out loud in an
operatic sort of way.
Channel your inner Dory and go for it: "Go to the bathroom now-ow-ow!"
Whew boy, that really gets them stepping lively!
Well off mine go- all 3 of them with me yelling at their backs, "AND
DON'T FORGET TO WASH YOUR HANDS!!" Because that is a very important
part of the Mommy job- to yell things they already know at them as
they are walking away from you. And don't think for a minute, that I don't know that
they are rolling their googly eyes all round their heads right this very minute as they walk away from me
the empty seat next to me. That was my Freak of a Child. And now I
would have to walk the long ass gauntlet of passengers who were
certainly having the horrid unsympathetic thoughts that were mine mere
moments ago- and retrieve said Freak and walk BACK through the same
gauntlet again with him. And do it smiling and acting like a concerned
parent not a pissed off bi-oche. I don't know what is so hard about
walking over hot coals in bare feet for goodness sake. Give me a break.
Where was I ? Oh yeah, so make your Freaks kiddos go to the
bathroom at the airport BEFORE you take off. . They WILL argue and
say they don't have to go. Some will even whip up some tears. Ignore it all and
get louder. Hint: the louder you get the more embarrassed of you
they will become and the faster they will do what you ask just to make
you stop being loud and embarrassing. It works, really. Or for bonus points, try singing the command out loud in an
operatic sort of way.
Channel your inner Dory and go for it: "Go to the bathroom now-ow-ow!"
Whew boy, that really gets them stepping lively!
Well off mine go- all 3 of them with me yelling at their backs, "AND
DON'T FORGET TO WASH YOUR HANDS!!" Because that is a very important
part of the Mommy job- to yell things they already know at them as
they are walking away from you. And don't think for a minute, that I don't know that
they are rolling their googly eyes all round their heads right this very minute as they walk away from me
And I know this because I can see through the backs of their heads. It's true. It is a Mommy Power bestowed
on us in the delivery room.
AAAAhhh! Blessed relaxtion. As I sit, flipping backwards through
my People magazine (hey don't judge me, it's therapeutic) along comes
our mid Son, Johnny. I may be dumb, but not quite dumb enough to
believe that in that small space of time, which is only slightly longer then a
nanosecond and yet long enough to learn how much weight Britney has
lost on her new diet and who it is that she is currently shacking up with,
AAAAhhh! Blessed relaxtion. As I sit, flipping backwards through
my People magazine (hey don't judge me, it's therapeutic) along comes
our mid Son, Johnny. I may be dumb, but not quite dumb enough to
believe that in that small space of time, which is only slightly longer then a
nanosecond and yet long enough to learn how much weight Britney has
lost on her new diet and who it is that she is currently shacking up with,
did my son have time to do business AND properly
wash his hands with regulation amounts of soap and warm water.
After consulting my mental Mommy matrix, I recognize that the first
order of business is to admonish him and tell him that I know he is
lying (another Mommy power) to me and demand that he go back and wash, and secondly to ask
where his younger brother is. His initial response is one of my
biggest pet peeves with him. He shrugs his shoulders and makes the " I don't
know(or care)"sound only it is done with guttural sounds not words.
Do you know what I mean?
It makes me want to shake him and yell at him like a drill
sergeant. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME SON?" And then I want to make
him swim to the bottom of a very cold and deep pool with weights
attached to him and then force him to remake his bed 800 times until
a quarter bounces on it. I'm not sure why it evokes this deep of a response in
me but it just seems so insolent and disrespectful a response. It
totally invalidates my authority. Upon seeing "the look" in my
eyes (and we all have one) , he tries to backtrack as a means of self preservation, saying:
" OOOOhhhhh, he is in the bathroom waiting for Nick."(who is my older son who
apparently was doing the other number in the universal classification
system for bathroom operations, if you know what I mean.)
So, let me see if I understand correctly. My "youngest-most
vulnerable-most likely to be stolen by horrible internet stalker types
and taken to live out the rest of his terrifying life in a dungeon",
is just hanging around in the men's bathroom with no supervision
whatsoever while one son casually walks away? For the love of all things sacred, why can't I get a
little help here with my paranoid mania? What good is it, I ask you,
to have 3 children of the same sex if you can't at least expect them
to look out for each other in the public bathrooms of this world?
Damn it. Now the Mommy job requirement demands that I run (not walk) to
the men's restroom where it is incumbent upon me to yell wildly inside,
wash his hands with regulation amounts of soap and warm water.
After consulting my mental Mommy matrix, I recognize that the first
order of business is to admonish him and tell him that I know he is
lying (another Mommy power) to me and demand that he go back and wash, and secondly to ask
where his younger brother is. His initial response is one of my
biggest pet peeves with him. He shrugs his shoulders and makes the " I don't
know(or care)"sound only it is done with guttural sounds not words.
Do you know what I mean?
It makes me want to shake him and yell at him like a drill
sergeant. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME SON?" And then I want to make
him swim to the bottom of a very cold and deep pool with weights
attached to him and then force him to remake his bed 800 times until
a quarter bounces on it. I'm not sure why it evokes this deep of a response in
me but it just seems so insolent and disrespectful a response. It
totally invalidates my authority. Upon seeing "the look" in my
eyes (and we all have one) , he tries to backtrack as a means of self preservation, saying:
" OOOOhhhhh, he is in the bathroom waiting for Nick."(who is my older son who
apparently was doing the other number in the universal classification
system for bathroom operations, if you know what I mean.)
So, let me see if I understand correctly. My "youngest-most
vulnerable-most likely to be stolen by horrible internet stalker types
and taken to live out the rest of his terrifying life in a dungeon",
is just hanging around in the men's bathroom with no supervision
whatsoever while one son casually walks away? For the love of all things sacred, why can't I get a
little help here with my paranoid mania? What good is it, I ask you,
to have 3 children of the same sex if you can't at least expect them
to look out for each other in the public bathrooms of this world?
Damn it. Now the Mommy job requirement demands that I run (not walk) to
the men's restroom where it is incumbent upon me to yell wildly inside,
"Will-iam! Will-iam! ARE YOU IN THERE?" Not surprisingly the men filing out of the restroom
appear shaken. Like I care. In what I have come to learn is the
inevitable outcome of this little dance we do, William doesn't hear me
despite having perfect hearing, and so I continue the yell-o-rama,
"NICH-O-LAS, CAN YOU HEAR ME???" (shouted much the way you would yell
down a deep mining shaft in search of the victim of a tragic fall of some
kind) More men come past, eyeing me suspiciously. Whatever.
Finally, after .12 seconds Nick and William run out of the bathroom
humiliated and my oldest is all like,
"WHAT . IS. YOUR. PROB-LEM?" And I find myself defending myself
appear shaken. Like I care. In what I have come to learn is the
inevitable outcome of this little dance we do, William doesn't hear me
despite having perfect hearing, and so I continue the yell-o-rama,
"NICH-O-LAS, CAN YOU HEAR ME???" (shouted much the way you would yell
down a deep mining shaft in search of the victim of a tragic fall of some
kind) More men come past, eyeing me suspiciously. Whatever.
Finally, after .12 seconds Nick and William run out of the bathroom
humiliated and my oldest is all like,
"WHAT . IS. YOUR. PROB-LEM?" And I find myself defending myself
to a punk ass 16 year old until I catch myself and then I'm like, "You, my friend,
are my problem." And that is the beginning of the downward spiral
that is our Mom/teenager relationship of late.
Yeah this pretty much encapsulates the dysfunctional dynamics at work
in our family.
A little later, we decide to look in on Kitty. I've never see an
animal look like this. It is truly frightening. Her eyes are all
weirdy weird. I quickly push her under the chair so I don't have to see
are my problem." And that is the beginning of the downward spiral
that is our Mom/teenager relationship of late.
Yeah this pretty much encapsulates the dysfunctional dynamics at work
in our family.
A little later, we decide to look in on Kitty. I've never see an
animal look like this. It is truly frightening. Her eyes are all
weirdy weird. I quickly push her under the chair so I don't have to see
the icky eyes anymore. Really. Maybe I can have her do this for Halloween
and really freak the tricker treaters out!
When William sees said icky eyes, he immediately starts crying and wailing:
When William sees said icky eyes, he immediately starts crying and wailing:
'WHAT'S WRONG WITH KIT-TY?"
This causes everyone at the gate, save for the sleeping man, to look our
way. So much for not drawing the unwanted attention to ourselves.
way. So much for not drawing the unwanted attention to ourselves.
"Oh Nothing, she's just tired from all of the excitement, honey", I lie.
Frankly, so am I.
I start fishing around for those little pink Kitty pills. Maybe I can
take the other half.
-to be continued.
I start fishing around for those little pink Kitty pills. Maybe I can
take the other half.
-to be continued.
you are hilarious. i am thrilled beyond measure that you have begun the bloggers journey.
xxx
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