Driving to North Carolina

A family that travels together, stays together, right? So we drove down to North Carolina with both Grace and Pookie. Grace is a veteran car-rider, but Pookie? Well, let's just say he survived a few drives to my office to pick me up from work and had no lasting trauma.

The drive from DC to Charlotte takes approximately eight hours, when Anthony isn't allowed to drive 100mph all the way. And the furry kids are packed in the backseat of Bubba (our very beloved Jeep), along with our luggage, two plants, a bag of kitty and puppy crack (i.e. their toys and food), my backpack full of library books and my computer, and whatever else we could stuff back there. Basically, there isn't much room in the car.

So we start out the ride with Pookie on my lap, wrapped up in a beach towel, kitty-sausage style. Although his eyes never shrink below the size of a mid-sized potato, his full-on paralysis eventually weakens and he is desirous of some hiding. He hides in that tiny area between the seat and the door, then moves to the area where my feet go but so far up that he is practically touching the underside of the dashboard, and then he moves to the backseat with Grace. Grace isn't so desirous of his company so she keeps sitting on him. (I can hear her thoughts now, "Squish the kitty! Squish the kitty!")

After a few minutes of "Squish the kitty!" Pookie starts to pant, which is the tipping point for me to lose my ever-loving sh#!, yell at the dog, and forcefully move Grace across the seat by injecting my thumb up her butt.

This goes on and on for hours, when I finally get the bright idea to pull the kitty out of Grace's tush and set him back on my lap. Silly me, I think this will be COMFORTING to Pookie.

Instead, Pookie is still terrified and keeps shoving his head in my armpit. Like those five-year-olds that think that you can't see them just because THEIR eyes are closed, Pookie feels completely invisible with his whiskers tickling my underarm.

Yet just as he begins to feel all safe and warm, a semi drives past, making that special noise only semis can make. The terror races through the cat, causing him to get warm - or so I think. I let Pookie go, and he crawls into the backseat, right under Grace's butt again.

Then I realize. MY CROTCH. STILL. FEELS. WARM.

That damn cat! He peed on me. We are officially no longer friends.