So…three hours from Cape Canaveral down to Miami (but this time in an air conditioned minivan which was a step above the back of a U-haul truck), arriving 3 hours in advance of the plane, then the female handler (f.h.) had to deal with airline paperwork which took an hour…then one final kiss by the family…and a body search by US Customs (ok, I made that up. I dare them to touch my body!! They did a detailed search of my living quarters and failed to leave a treat behind), and then we were left in the care of American Airlines for 11 hours along with some dogs. We emerged in another environment and were patiently tapping our paws waiting for one of the family members to hopefully …show up. Please don’t force us to stay next to these dogs any longer. The only thing we had in common were very large anxious eyes.
Finally…there she was….running to the cages slipping her fingers in to give us comfort.
I wanted to be angry, I wanted to just lay into her…but instead…I was just so freaking thankful that they were there…at the other end of this nightmare.
Anything from this point forward was manageable.
Another minivan. Another three hours. Not a peep out of us…. We were alive, and we were all together again. It didn’t matter that my bladder was the size of a grapefruit, or that I was hungry. There was a reason this was happening, and we were together.
More than a week has passed in this apartment, and I’m still adjusting. My days are spent sleeping and praying I never have to repeat that trauma. There’s a porch and I’m finally getting enough nerve to venture out on it.
Ricky hates the place. He’ll start his Maine Coon howls about 2am. It’s actually entertaining to watch his blatant impatience. I believe the early mornings are wearing on the f.h.
My mother, Keika, has had a complete personality adjustment with all this. She is the one who has no qualms looking out the window at the traffic below, venturing onto the porch for fresh air, and will even come purposefully to check out the caa-plops caa-plops of the horse drawn wagon going by in the wee hours. She watched a regatta on Sunday from the living room.
And when we have company, SHE is the first to come out to see who it is. I remain in the bedroom, and Ricky hides under the covers beside me.
The family is often gone in the afternoons. There is talk of a farm about 29 km (18 miles) from the apartment, and 10 hectares (~ 25 acres) of sprawling land to roam with established mandarins, oranges, pomelos, apples, and figs. Could be good. Most definitely an upgrade from the current 10” x 13” litter box we have to share now. Apparently there are current residents on the farm—3 horses, which mini-f.h. has fallen in love with.
(The horse whisperer)
We’ll have to see how this works out. I believe I could be content there.