Travels with Guinness
Monday, May 31st, 2004Guinness has decided that Tom and I are the first against the wall when the revolution comes.
Actually, since he’s snuggled up against my leg sleeping right now, it’s possible that he’s forgiven me. Maybe, if I play my cards right,) I’ll be fourth against the wall when the aforementioned revolution comes.
Saturday morning, I packed up his food dish and put him into his little carrier for the drive to Pittsburgh. He mewled pitifully for the whole drive to pick up Tom. He was quiet for most of the trip, silently plotting our destruction from the back seat until we arrived at my parents’ place.
My parents are dogsitting two large and excitable retrievers for my uncle this week. Guinness was, shall we say, less than impressed. In fact, if he had opposable thumbs, I’m sure we’d be smoking shells by now.
The dogs were of course intrigued with the little furry thing in the carrier. “What’s that? Is it another puppy? Is it for us? Does it want to play?”
No, he did NOT want to play. In fact, the whole time we were there, he hissed at the dogs every time one of them so much as looked it him. For the record, a miniscule kitten, hissing so very viciously at a much larger dog, is high on the unintentional comedy scale.
In any case, he did eventually figure out that none of the humans were inclined to make a doggy treat out of him, so he calmed down and made friends with my parents. He spent most of his time in the den in the basement, which we had declared to be a No-Puppy Zone. This fact alone made the den his favorite place in the house, and its plethora of little hidey-holes suitable for a very small kitten only added to his delight.
All was well until we got on the road to go home. Shortly after we crossed into Maryland, we heard an insistent mewing from the back seat that got more frantic every time we hit a bump- poor little guy had to pee.
I wouldn’t have minded if he had just used the carrier- the towel is washable. But he’s so well litter-trained that it soon became apparent that we needed to stop or face listening to him suffer the rest of the way home.
We found a rest stop and pulled in. Hopeful of a quick return to the road since it was so late, Tom set the Wee Kitteh on the grass. Guinness was bewildered by this. This was clearly not the litterbox he had so specifically requested.
And then he saw the dog. He frantically climbed the leg of my jeans and had made it as far as my hip by the time I knew what was happening. Clearly, we were going to have to get out the litterbox.
As it happened, we had some clean litter and even some liners with us, so we set up the box next to the car and set him in it. Almost immediately, he heard another car pull into the lot and bolted. Right under the car.
Great. We’re at a rest stop in the far reaches of Maryland, and the cat has parked himself under the car. And what’s more, he crawled up into the inside of one of the wheels to hide. So he’s sticking his little face through the holes in my star-shaped hubcaps to say hello. And I’m reaching through to try to chase him out, and we’re both covered in dirt, and I’m laughing too hard to care.
Before long, we had several other rest stop patrons peering under the car with us. We got out one of his toys and tossed it around so he could hear the jingle. The woman in the truck next to us lent us a flashlight. We’re all circling the car, chanting, “Guiiiiiiness!! Guiiiiiiiiiiiness!”
Finally, a man walked across the parking lot and stood on the sidewalk in front of Gustav. He proceeded to make cat noises very quietly. And our cat, who hates new people, and who could not be coaxed from under the car by the two people he loves tolerates most in the world, strolled right out from under the car and allowed this complete stranger to pick him up.
Go figure.
