The Bride of Satan travels

 

Bob and I both have houses; they are about 8 miles apart from each other.  Once we got married we started playing musical houses, i.e., a few days at his place then a few days at my place.  Sounds simple, right?  Wrong.  As many of you know I have a beautiful longhaired black cat nicknamed The Bride of Satan.  When we stay at Bob’s house it means getting up earlier than usual and traveling the distance between the houses to feed the cat.  I don’t think she minds much being alone but food is an essential part of her life and perhaps she would even eat all day if allowed to do so.  The obvious solution was to take her with us as we go back and forth.

The week prior to this trial run we purchased a second litter box and scoop, another case of her food, some new dishes, and made sure we had a good supply of her old towels so she would have some familiar scents in the new place.  Long ago I discovered that she really didn’t like riding in the car since the only place she ever went was the vet.  Her aversion to travel was understandable.  At D’s suggestion I started feeding her in the carrying crate and she did seem to think of it mostly in pleasant terms.   The door to the crate needs to be held open by two small bungee cords.  Once those were removed the door swung ominously instead of being firmly in the open position.  The afternoon meal appeared in the crate as usual but the door was swinging, squeaking a bit and spooking her.  A quick shove by me, and presto she was inside, the door locked shut behind her.  She is not dumb and the realization that all was not as it should be was more or less instantaneous.  A surprised and unhappy protestation howl and frantic shuffling inside the crate ensued.

The crate now had an actively moving cat inside on the way down the stairs to the car.  The decibel level of protests increased.  The mild startled complaints took on a sorrowful moan then an angry yowl.  I only wish I could have recorded all the sounds.  We were much too busy to take any photos from that point onward.

Once at Bob’s house the crate was opened and she shot out only to slink back in confusion at the new unfamiliar surroundings.  Apparently these were not to her liking in the least.  After two forays into the strange kitchen she retreated back to the laundry/pantry area where we had set up the litter box and feeding station.  Hiding behind the crate next to the water heater she began really howling, yowling, spitting, and growling.  Thank goodness she no longer has any front claws.  We patiently waited thinking she would start to explore and all would be well.  It did not happen.  After about 3 hours it was time to transit back to my house. 

A matador dance with swinging towels instead of capes, a terrified feline, more unbelievable noises—caterwalling?—some really heavy garden gloves got punctured and left Bob with a couple of bloody fingers.  Heavier leather ski gloves were next.  A towel quickly dropped over cat, she was bodily thrust into the crate with frantic fumbling to secure the latch.  Bob is brave but his level of dexterity was hampered by the thick gloves and now bandaged fingers.  I wasn’t about to get anywhere near the cat or the crate.  Now the crate had an extremely angry and frightened cat inside.  Back to the car, drive the 8 miles, haul the crate up the stairs into the house.  No food since morning.  Very angry, hungry cat no longer terrified but terrifying in her rage and indignity.  Screamed, hissed, yowled, and growled at us every time she saw us.  Tried to prevent us from entering or exiting rooms in the house.  This is the next day.  I finally got her to eat something (no food since the previous morning prior to the unsatisfactory adventure).  She is still very angry and disgruntled.  Low muttering growls can be heard every so often.  I am currently ignoring her and pretending all is well.  Perhaps by tomorrow evening she will be willing to tolerate us.  I don’t think forgiveness is on the menu.

The Bride of Satan has canceled all future travel plans for the time being.

The unsuccessful journey comes to an end.  The bungee cord is securing the locked crate door.  We are not taking any chances.

Note the heavy gloves . . .