driving mr. bixby

Lest we forget:
A picture from the past just to remind us all...
In some way, Bixby is ALWAYS armed and dangerous.

First, it is important to say that, when arriving to pick up the exceptional feline for something important - such as a drive across the country, one must be prepared to pull up at the curb and wait. And wait. And wait. Therefore, it might be recommended/considered essential to wear one of the more comfortable and airy uniforms available - lightweight linen, perhaps - especially if it is the month of August.

On the day in question, we (the hired help/drivers) felt it was in Mr. Bixby's best interest to get a head start on a long three days journey -- 5pm seemed reasonable enough. However, apparently that did not fit in with his schedule which, of course, is entirely driven by napping needs.

Mommy/nanny/servant was sure he was dead. Otherwise he would heed her calls to appear. Fr. C. sought to console her, as she wailed and cried, offering to go to dinner - and even a movie - while waiting to see if Mr. B was alive or dead. Happily, B. made himself available around 7 and off we went.

The brand spanking new Sherpa-lined airline approved cat carrier was not to Mr. B's liking. But if Mummy held the carrier on her lap and put her hand through the zippered opening and didn't leave 1/8 of an inch for him to try to push his head through and stroked him constantly, well then he was consolable and quiet...well, after 4 hours or so.

Mr. B is a Wild Thang. He rules the Great Outdoors. He's long forgotten what a litter box is for. To bring a new 'throne' along for HRH to use along the way will not arouse any instinctual interest on his part. He refused to even look at it the first night, nor would he in the morning. A stop was made at a local pet store in Nevada first thing in the new day: we purchased puppy training pads that smell like grass...'Calm Cat' (homeopathic remedy with 13% alcohol)...Nature's Miracle for cleaning up unforeseen messes. Yup, that should do it. He had a good day in the car (on my lap), but apparently that was different from no other day in his life, which he spends....napping.

Upon arrival at that night's hotel, late at night, the bathroom was quickly set up with litter box, puppy pads to see if he would give in. But before we could let him out of his carrier, he emptied his bladder into it. Dark despair descended over Mommy's entire being. While Fr. C slept (as the sole driver, his rest and well-being are the top priority), she went busily to work. The cat carrier was doused with Nature's Miracle and set to drain in the bathtub. Lucy's huge dog kennel was brought in from the car (all car contents necessarily displaced) and set up for cat creature comforts: litter box (yeah...that was bright), soft towel inside, towels draped over the kennel to cushion him. It was clear that his brain's radar is set to 'kill' at night and there's nothing to kill in a motel room. Unless you count Mommy's spirit. Despite all possible coddlings, nothing consoled him. Let him out. He still howled inconsolably. Took him into the bathroom and sat with him while he cried...and cried...and cried. Repeat kennel/bathroom alternating routine ad nauseum. He wanted to hurt someone. Badly. In the dark of night, Mommy reviewed options for transporting him on the remainder of the trip and came up with none. With no solution to HRH's complex feline personality disorder - either in the 'present' of the trip or when he arrives at his future home - despair drove Mommy to prayer. He quieted down almost instantly and commenced an impressive hour-long bath, after which he loudly demanded dinner. Then...he sort of slept. Evening and morning of the second day: still holding way too much in.

The next day's drive: yup, still in the carrier on my lap - but this time with puppy pads and a towel under it in case he couldn't make it to the next motel bathroom. Trying not to envision an expensive visit to an Indiana vet, diagnosis: kidney infection. On the road, a feline excretion history review produced an 'ah ha!' moment: he normally does his business in a wild manly way...on backyard concrete pavers, on the concrete basement floor if he has no choice. OK. The guy likes hard surfaces and (silly me) I didn't bring a sample of concrete from the back yard for The Trip.

But -- maybe I could trick him.

The plan was laid out in whispers while Mr. B slept. Purchase a newspaper. Put something on it that smells like home (a small rag we had in the car). Get that set up in the bathroom before bringing him into the hotel. Let him out of the carrier quickly and close him in there and hope for the best. If it succeeds: retrieve some shreds of of wet paper/wet rag for inserting in the litter box - just for future feline reference.

I'll spare you some "interesting" details . But - happy to say it succeeded. So much so that he has continued to use the litter box joyfully in his new abode, producing so much...I might add...that I can't imagine how he held in so much in on the road. Soon, he'll be allowed out of the house (chipmunks, ducks, woodpeckers, cardinals, ???small deer??? -- BEWARE!!!) and may again outgrow interest in/need for a litter box.

And Lucy? She had no idea there existed places saturated with a million different flavors of dog pee waiting for her to explore (rest areas)! Being basically 'mental', naturally she couldn't produce on demand or even on suggestion. So, anxiety reigned there as well. She did discover that her favorite medicinal weed which had been small and sparse in her former yard grows bigger and bigger as one drives eastward. Neither she nor I could believe our eyes when we saw a patch as tall as wheat at a rest area in Wyoming. Thanks be to God.