I have returned from the States for a day of serving my ultimate duty. Purry needy cat, so eager that she rubbed her nose on my glasses frame when I fell asleep.
Molly-cat was particularly glad to come home today because I suspect she’s spent the past week wondering if she would ever see me again. I know what you’ll say: ‘you worry too much’. But this time she had a rather traumatic entry to the cattery.
As we left for the cattery last week, I though ‘I really need to have my car serviced when I get back.’ And right on cue, little car squealed gently in confirmation. All was well, all was normal till we were on the road to Kilmalcolm. There was a squeal, then a whistle. ‘Just a few more miles’ I thought, ‘then I’ll stop at the cattery and think about what to do’. It seemed that we would be fine, but it was not to be: the temperature suddenly soared, and I pushed the car just a bit further than it wanted to go to turn into the first side street after the fields.
So, there I was wondering: what is the AA’s policy on cat transportation?
On first attempt all of my Glasgow friends were out of reach. Desperate measures meant a call to the cattery who offered to come get Molly. Now, this was hugely helpful — except for Molly. Once abandoned, always nervous: she was handed to not-her-favourite-carer on a side street and put into an unfamiliar car.
AA came and rescued me. The kind garage at Bridge of Weir fixed my car and let it sit in their lot for a week (NOT cheaper than airport parking, but Little Car does have a shiny new water pump). Then, the friend who finally answered the phone — the friend who I knew beyond all others would drop everything and come– came to get me from the garage and took me to see Molly in prison.
Maybe not my best idea, that. She was glad to see me, then I left.
So, today we have clingy cat. Clingy, molting, if-you-don’t-love-me-I-won’t-care-for-my-coat cat.
Lap-time, then. Perfect for jet-lagged exhaustion.