[I finally captured Jack (front right), Ace (distant middle), and myself (part of me) all in one oddly angled and slightly blurry photo. Man, why am I even trying to become a writer when I am so obviously a photography prodigy.]
My mind has been trying to wrap itself around a certain obstacle I will eventually have to overcome. I will assume that you have caught on to the fact that I plan to move oodles of miles away when the time is right. I will also proudly say I believe to have determined the general region for my relocation. I’ll elaborate on that a little later. I can’t tell you specifics right now. You already know too much. What I can tell you, is that the region is well over a day’s drive from the
end of the world tip of the boot.
My point? Well, I want you to take a good look at the animals in that picture up there. One of them is a seasoned and serial car pooper/vomiter/demon noise maker. I refuse to take Ace half a mile down the road let alone half way across the country. So, I did a little research to find out just how I would pull off the biggest kitty voyage ever attempted and what tools I would need to get me through it. Let me just put on my cat whispering gear.
What I assumed the solution would be: Fork over a ridiculous amount of money for some extra strength cat roofies and try to explain to hotel staff and onlookers at pit stops why I am waltzing around with two limp balls of fur like it is some sort of fashion statement, all while my cats remain in a coma for two days straight.
What I learned after a good old fashion Google session: Do not roofie your cat(s). Instead, I will follow the plan of action below. Read the rest of this entry