Jack and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Note: This blog post is from Jack's point of view. Normally he would just post on Twitter, but since this is a long story, I/he will just link to this post from there.
Sometimes a very loud, very scary noise happens, and mom says "It's ok, Jack, they're testing the fire alarm today," and then the noise stops and all is well. Yesterday, mom said "there was no sign about a fire alarm test." The noise didn't stop, and mom went to the closet and got the carrier.
Scary noise not stopping AND the carrier?! I fled under the futon, but mom grabbed me. No fear of claws or bites. No lying down and trying to shoo me out. She just grabbed me and stuffed me in. She lifted the handle, and the side of the carrier I was not in lifted an inch before the handle came off. "You're so heavy!" mom exclaimed, even though I was not in a sound emotional state to deal with her fat-shaming. Then she grabbed her bag and we left. She didn't even stop to put the book she's reading back in the bag.
We walked down stairs for a long time. I meowed a lot. I was worried, and thought mom should know. When the scary noise never stopped, and more people joined us on the long walk down, mom seemed worried too.
Outside were more people and big flashy-light-trucks that made also loud, also scary noises of their own. I meowed, and the people gathered outside looked at me. Normally this is comforting, but I was stressed out. The people from the loud trucks shooed away the crowd of us apartment residents. "It isn't our tower" said a man from the stairwell, and mom was notably relieved.
As mom and the crowd of other residents walked off into the neighborhood to wait from a safe distance, I saw mom exchange a smile and a knowing glance with a woman who sat with a ginger tabby in a carrier of his own. "It's a good thing we have cats to protect us" I assumed they were saying. A teeny gray kitten, about 10 weeks old, cuddled her human. So young, and already so good at her job.
"Jack, the diner has a patio," said mom. And soon we were sitting still. Mom poured some cold water into a dish for me, but I was too stressed. She gave me some whipped cream from her milkshake, but I was too stressed. I just rocked back and forth while mom called and texted people. She tried talking to me calmly, but I was stressed and hot, despite the breeze and the shade.
More people came to see me, which is nice, but I just wanted it to be quiet and air conditioned again. A lady who does cat rescue came and pet me. She and mom talked about how too keep me cool when I was too stressed to drink my water. Then mom remember something.
Miss Maria, who checks on me when mom is away and sometimes come over to play with me, is away, so mom had a key to her place, so that she could check on Angel BB Bangles. So mom carried me to Maria's place. Every block or so, she stopped and adjusted the carrier, hauling me at ridiculous angles. "That needs a handle on top" said a woman passing by. "He's too heavy," mom said, "it came off." Please keep in mind that Doc H. said that I was 10.8 pounds of pure muscle at my last appointment. I may have put on a pound or so of belly fat since then, but . . .
Finally, we reached Maria's where it was quiet and cool. Miss Angel hissed at me. We glared at one another from a distance for hours while mom read one of Maria's books and called the apartment every so often to see if we could go home yet.
"We can go home!" mom said, while Angel scowled at me from behind a sofa. "But I am NOT carrying you. We are stealing the cart." So mom found Maria's grocery cart, turned my carrier front-side-up and put it in, making me sit on what should have been the rear wall of the carrier, not the floor. But it rolled smoothly and quickly. I meowed more. What now? "It's ok; we're almost home," mom repeated like a mantra.
The rolling came to a stop, and mom turned the cart&carrier floor-side-down and opened the front. I looked around and hopped out. Home? Really? Could it be that simple? I looked around, but nothing had changed. Mom fed me, checked my water, and cranked up the AC. That's what I call happily ever after.
Sometimes a very loud, very scary noise happens, and mom says "It's ok, Jack, they're testing the fire alarm today," and then the noise stops and all is well. Yesterday, mom said "there was no sign about a fire alarm test." The noise didn't stop, and mom went to the closet and got the carrier.
Scary noise not stopping AND the carrier?! I fled under the futon, but mom grabbed me. No fear of claws or bites. No lying down and trying to shoo me out. She just grabbed me and stuffed me in. She lifted the handle, and the side of the carrier I was not in lifted an inch before the handle came off. "You're so heavy!" mom exclaimed, even though I was not in a sound emotional state to deal with her fat-shaming. Then she grabbed her bag and we left. She didn't even stop to put the book she's reading back in the bag.
We walked down stairs for a long time. I meowed a lot. I was worried, and thought mom should know. When the scary noise never stopped, and more people joined us on the long walk down, mom seemed worried too.
Outside were more people and big flashy-light-trucks that made also loud, also scary noises of their own. I meowed, and the people gathered outside looked at me. Normally this is comforting, but I was stressed out. The people from the loud trucks shooed away the crowd of us apartment residents. "It isn't our tower" said a man from the stairwell, and mom was notably relieved.
As mom and the crowd of other residents walked off into the neighborhood to wait from a safe distance, I saw mom exchange a smile and a knowing glance with a woman who sat with a ginger tabby in a carrier of his own. "It's a good thing we have cats to protect us" I assumed they were saying. A teeny gray kitten, about 10 weeks old, cuddled her human. So young, and already so good at her job.
"Jack, the diner has a patio," said mom. And soon we were sitting still. Mom poured some cold water into a dish for me, but I was too stressed. She gave me some whipped cream from her milkshake, but I was too stressed. I just rocked back and forth while mom called and texted people. She tried talking to me calmly, but I was stressed and hot, despite the breeze and the shade.
More people came to see me, which is nice, but I just wanted it to be quiet and air conditioned again. A lady who does cat rescue came and pet me. She and mom talked about how too keep me cool when I was too stressed to drink my water. Then mom remember something.
Miss Maria, who checks on me when mom is away and sometimes come over to play with me, is away, so mom had a key to her place, so that she could check on Angel BB Bangles. So mom carried me to Maria's place. Every block or so, she stopped and adjusted the carrier, hauling me at ridiculous angles. "That needs a handle on top" said a woman passing by. "He's too heavy," mom said, "it came off." Please keep in mind that Doc H. said that I was 10.8 pounds of pure muscle at my last appointment. I may have put on a pound or so of belly fat since then, but . . .
Finally, we reached Maria's where it was quiet and cool. Miss Angel hissed at me. We glared at one another from a distance for hours while mom read one of Maria's books and called the apartment every so often to see if we could go home yet.
"We can go home!" mom said, while Angel scowled at me from behind a sofa. "But I am NOT carrying you. We are stealing the cart." So mom found Maria's grocery cart, turned my carrier front-side-up and put it in, making me sit on what should have been the rear wall of the carrier, not the floor. But it rolled smoothly and quickly. I meowed more. What now? "It's ok; we're almost home," mom repeated like a mantra.
The rolling came to a stop, and mom turned the cart&carrier floor-side-down and opened the front. I looked around and hopped out. Home? Really? Could it be that simple? I looked around, but nothing had changed. Mom fed me, checked my water, and cranked up the AC. That's what I call happily ever after.