The tried & true method - the cats. He got Shitfoot before we moved in together, and that was in 1998. Wait, or was it 1999? I think it was 1999... It was definitely one or the other, so we're accurate to within a year - close enough.
That poor cat. So enamored, were we, having a cat - really his cat but quickly became our cat - that for months David traveled with him on Bart to stay at my place in the city, almost every weekend. So many trips on noisy, stinky, scary Bart. We're certain that's what caused him to go mental. But it also could have been the plane trip out to Georgia to visit his parents that one time...
So stupid, were we, taking him with us. I had someone watching my bird at my place - we could have left him there, but nooo.... had to have that damn fuzzy baby with us. And then the airline had no record of me booking the flight with a cat in the cabin. But this was pre-9/11...
I asked my dad what we should do, seasoned traveler that he is, and he asked me if the cat ever made any noise and I said no. He said we should throw a jacket over the carrier bag and just walk onto the plane. Which was exactly what we did.
The only noise he made was during descent for landing, which is when he lost his ever loving mind and tried to claw his way out of the Sherpa bag. We sat there ignoring the puzzled looks and pointing fingers like we always travel with a rabid wolverine. Don't you? Why the hell did we do that to him?
Now when he wants something from us - usually, food - and we don't act fast enough, he jumps onto something he knows we don't want him on and then he proceeds to knock our shit onto the floor. I hate that goddamn cat. But I love that goddamn cat.
Happy Anniversary.
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