And now it's the time you've all been waiting for, the tales from the road. One woman and two cats make a cross country trek from Seattle to High Point, NC. One car complete with a baby gate as a barrier from the free range felines, a litter box, cat food, water, boxes galore in the trunk, a large TV in the front seat, and bags of muffins that made an escape at every hotel's parking lot.
We start with Day 1.
The original plan was to have the car packed up the night before and then leave around 8 AM on Monday morning, but then I came to my senses and I decided to not leave during traffic. The deadline then became to leave the house by noon. Sunday afternoon, completely hungover and having vomited that morning from being up all night drinking at my going-away/birthday party, I decided to sleep for three hours and then panic at the thought that loading my car meant I was truly leaving. I decided to wait to the load the car until morning.
Monday morning came, and I didn't realize how much shit I still had at home. I packed as fast as I could, but seemed to encounter one problem after another. After many a meltdown and accusing my father of moving my keys, when I'd really put them in my trunk along with my parka, I was finally ready to leave. I was stressed that I was so far behind. It was now 3/3:30 and my dad wanted to take pictures of my brother, him and me. I was not happy about the added delay and my brother explained after group photo number three, that I might kill my father if I had to endure any more.
I get in the car and am driving away and I hear a strange noise from my tires that had just been rotated that morning. I turn around and go back home. My dad wants to hear for himself and says he'll drive it around the cul-de-sac, but instead takes off to who-knows-where with my two cats and fails to return after five minutes. I go inside and hang out with my brother, who is visiting before his move to Amsterdam.
"Ryan, dad has hijacked my cats."
About fifteen minutes later my dad returns and tells me it's fine so long as I go straight. I remind me that I will surely have to turn at some point, but he insists it will be fine. So I leave. My dad runs to the bottom of the driveway and starts taking pictures of me leaving.
"Do not take my picture! I do NOT want to remember this!" I'm yelling as I back down the hill. It's too reminiscent of the time he took pictures of me and my mom standing at my grandmother's casket last December. I am irritated and speed off.
And then I was on the road. After about an hour of non-stop meowing from my two cats, they both crawled inside their litter box and hid. I was only planning to drive to Coeur d'Alene that night. The drive was beautiful. I hit the Columbia Gorge at sunset and cried twice as I listened to the mixed CD's that some friends from work had made me. The two songs that made me lose it seemed way too appropriate for my circumstances.
It was a harvest moon as I made it further towards Eastern Washington, and the moon resembled the rock hard nine-month old satsuma I came across hiding in my rice cooker while packing. It was beautiful and looked like it was going to roll across the small town I was driving by, like a fruit version of "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes."
I made it to Coeur d'Alene by 10 PM, checked in and carried the cats, still hiding in the litter box, up to my room. Luckily their favorite hiding spot, under the bed was all boarded up minus two small spaces at the upper corner under the bed. I shoved the hiding spots with towels and conked out ready to start Day 2.
