Traveling Cats: 6 Hard Lessons Learned

#1. Cats Understand English.

Our most recent feline considered herself lucky, because that was her name (ha!). Risking a gross understatement, I must say Lucky did not travel well. At first mention - not sight, mention - of the cat carrier, or the kennel, or the vet, she bolted and hid under a bed. Then we began our little game called Cat Trap. To play this game requires a long-handled item, such as a broom or a full-size umbrella (in the 'down' position). An additional player is nice, but not necessary. Begin the game by selecting any room in the house that has a door. Inspect the room carefully for your cat. Pay special attention to their usual hiding places, such as under the bed, behind the clothes in the closet, behind the curtains, and so on. Once the room is declared 'cat-free', close the door and move on to another room. Continue until said cat is located. If you have played this game correctly, you will be able to ambush the cat before it streaks off to a new hiding place, as all the good hiding places are now inaccessible. The broom or umbrella comes in handy if your cat likes to hide under the bed, smack-dab in the middle. It is useful for 'encouraging' your cat to emerge. Careful! This is a tool of persuasion, not an instrument of torture.

#2. Cats Do Not Travel Well.

The trusty pet carrier by no means insures a safe and worry-free trip. We learned this lesson when we moved from Toledo to Kansas City, our first move with Lucky. We weren't even out of Lucas County before Lucky started yowling her head off in her carrier. Thinking we could remedy the situation, we let her out of the carrier. She promptly did some extraordinarily nasty "business" on my husband's brand new jacket. That was our signal to pull over for a rest stop and exercise the animals (I know, I know - too little, too late).

#3. Cats Have Little Regard For Leashes.

We were feeling confident about a rest stop for the animals, because we had Lucky on a leash. If you have never seen a cat on a leash, you are in for a treat. Your eyes take in the leash and send the "leash" signal to the brain; but when your eyes get to the end of the leash and send the "cat" signal to the brain, the brain rebels. A cat??? That's supposed to be a dog!! Adding to this surrealism, Lucky developed a curious limping gait while so ensnared, as if trying to extricate herself from the leash one limb at a time. Her problem was solved by a jolt of the cat equivalent of adrenaline.

Once out of the car, our chocolate lab, Coco, did the Doggy Celebration Dance in her excitement to be free for a few minutes. Leaping and twisting in glee, Coco bounded over to encourage us to join her canine freedom frenzy. Already frazzled by her imprisonment in the carrier, Lucky freaked. She bolted, and before you could say “That Darned Cat!” we were all running around some park in Ohio, at dusk, looking for a perfectly camouflaged tabby/tortoiseshell cat. Thank goodness, the fuschia leash stayed attached to her somehow. My husband finally ran her down - literally! - by stepping on the end of the leash. After much huffing and puffing, we got her back to the safety of the car. Needless to say, she was not allowed out of her carrier for the rest of the trip.

#4. See #3.

Keeping this in mind and wishing desperately to avoid a repeat, we made careful plans before moving from Kansas City to St. Paul one August day two years later. We upgraded the leash to a HARNESS and piled into the car. The process of strapping it on the cat went something like a fitting a space suit on an astronaut. First rest stop, not even out of Missouri yet, and it was Lucky Escapes: Part II. Everything was going well, until our good friend Coco reprised her Doggy Celebration Dance. Lucky about strangled herself and half dislocated a shoulder doing a Houdini out of that new harness. The "escape-proof" contraption dangled loosely from my hand, mocking me. Lucky took off at light speed, heading for the thicket at the edge of the park area. At least it was broad daylight and we could see her a little more easily.

#5. Cats Have A Finely Tuned Sense Of Revenge.

My daughter was was borderline hysterical, wandering the perimeter of the thicket in a trance. My son was trying to be helpful. This consisted of him standing around calling, "Lucky, Lucky". You all know how most cats come a'running when you call their name . . .

I drew jungle duty: climbing the barbed wire fence, smashing down the waist-high weeds, and fighting off the mosquitoes. Every step produced a plume of golden pollen so thick, my clothes were covered in it. Wicked marble-sized stickers blanketed my socks and the laces on my sneakers; one ripped a gash in my bare upper arm. Every now and then one of us would spy Lucky, creeping along in the thick underbrush. "There she is!" one of us would shout. "Over there! Just ahead of you. Stay there, cut her off . . . dang it, there she goes!" and so on. It was 20 minutes of pure fun. At one point, I made the mistake of saying what I was thinking out loud. I didn't realize my son was within earshot. He said, "Gee, Mom, I never heard you say THAT word before. Only Dad."

#6. Cats Are Weird.

It didn't take long for me to have my fill of this. I told my daughter to forget about the (expletive deleted) cat. It was hot, I was filthy and sweaty and tired, and we needed to get back on the road. She was devastated about leaving her poor cat, but I was fed up. As I headed back toward the car, I glanced to my right, and there Lucky sat. The little devil was curled up under a dirt overhang, obscured by a tangle of exposed tree roots. She was looking right at me, still as a statue. I called to the kids to circle the wagons, made my way over to her very carefully, and picked her up just as if she was sitting on the sofa at home. All I can figure is she must have been scared stiff. I am just thankful she didn't have the courage or the spirit to run away again.