Saturday
7 p.m. – Over dinner on the eve of my departure, my sister informs me that Boris often has bouts of kitty IBS in the car. A fact she negated to mention when asking me to be a foster parent. Tears of laughter ensued as she recounted past disaster tales. I temporarily considered leaving him in Mankato thus ensuring a poo-free ride home. Let this be a lesson to you – always go with your first instinct.
11:58 p.m. – I go to sleep, praying for dear life that God will not allow Boris to diarrhea in my car.
Sunday
8:30 a.m. – I inform my sister that I will, indeed, be taking Boris with me. We devise a master plan to place newspaper on the bottom of his cat-kennel in case of the dreaded poo explosion.
9:02 a.m. – I have my car jammed full of Black Friday purchases and Boris in tow and I depart Mankato.
9:45 a.m. – I marvel at how calm and content Boris is in the car and remind myself that Courtney has a tendency to be overly dramatic. I turn the radio up for that sweet sound and ease on down the road.
10:02 a.m. – I enter the freeway at Owatanna and notice some strange noises are coming from Boris. I look to find my prayers have been answered, there is no poo party – instead, Boris has had a vomit explosion that smelled to high heaven. I roll my windows down and enjoy the brisk 38 degree Minnesota air while frantically looking for a suitable gas station, wherein I will be able to clean up Boris’ cage AND get a delicious cup of coffee.
10:27 a.m. – Said gas station presents itself in Kasson, MN. I pull off, only to wait in line for a spot at a pump. Apparently the Kwik Trip in Kasson is a mecca on a Sunday morn. I take Boris out of the car, still in his cage and carefully open the door to the cage. He has sat in the puke a little bit, and I carefully place him on the floor of my front seat so as not to get vomit on my white fleece. I go to shut the door when…
10:28 a.m. – Boris SPRINTS from the floor of the car and streaks across the gas station. He is no spry kitten and to see his 20 + pounds moving like a gazelle in the Serengeti is a site to behold. However, instead of enjoying the majesty, my flight reflex kicks in and I run, screaming and flailing my arms across the gas station after Boris, leaving my car door wide open with no regard for my purse and many Black Friday purchases.
10:29 a.m. – Boris rounds the corner of the gas station out of site. I run after him screaming, “Boris, BORIS!” Many gas station patrons inquire if he is my cat and join me in the hunt. I round the corner to find a number of cars, a view of a marsh and the dreaded overpass, but no Boris.
10:30-10:32 a.m. – I wildly look for Boris, screaming his name, heading into the grass, looking under cars. A feeling of dread seeps in that I have lost my sister’s cat and the tears well up in my eyes.
10:33 a.m. – I spot Boris under a car and my heart falls out of my throat, back into my chest. I get down on my hands and knees and try to coax him from underneath the car. He is meowing loudly in a tom-cat sort of way, and will not budge.
10:35 a.m. – He finally peaks his head out of the car and I quickly snatch him up. I then carry him back to car as he – Pinky the Cat style – tries to escape.
10:37 a.m. – I return to my car, where one of the helpful gas station patrons is waiting, holding Boris’ kennel for me. I regretfully inform him that I cannot put Boris back in his cage because it is filled with vomit. He drops the cage like it was made of liquid hot magma.
10:38 a.m. – I ask the fellow if he wouldn’t mind shutting the door for me quickly as I put Boris on the floor of my backseat. He wouldn’t mind – and we successfully trap Boris.
10:42 – 10:38 a.m. – I cleaned up the cage with haste and patted myself on the back for the brilliant newspaper idea. I then very carefully opened my door and held on to Boris. He clung to the floor mat and my atlas with the Jaws of Life. Boris and I are in a full on struggle, I am nearly falling over with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation and Boris’ super-kitty strength. I finally pry him from the floor, only to reengage the pinky the cat situation while trying to wrestle him into the cage. Tears stream from my eyes and meows bellow from Boris’ lips as we fight the age old battle of good v spy kitty.
10:39 a.m. – Another helpful patron holds the kennel for me and finally, Boris is safe and puke-free. I profusely thank the lady and go in to buy the most wonderful cup of coffee in the world.
3:48 a.m. – We arrive home with no further incident. Boris greets his new brother, Sven, and gets acclimated to his new (temporary) home. I collapse on my coach and silently plot to give Sven some Colon-Blow the first time we visit the Millard’s new residence. (insert evil plan laugh here).
The End.
