So, last time we talked, I mentioned a trip to Berlin that we took last week. And I mean from last Sunday, 8 days ago, right after my brother and fiancée took part in a triathlon I was too injured to run (sort of true story), till Thursday evening. That’s a full 4 days during which our cat was left alone in the house in Paris. Well, when I say ‘alone’, our very friendly neighbours took care of him (as they quite often do), feeding him and checking on him daily. Arguably, that’s liveable, only this was the second time in 3 weeks we flew to Berlin leaving him behind.
Then we were going to Lyon for the weekend. Imagine my issue.
We were headed there to see my fiancée’s family — and celebrate her birthday slightly in advance (not her family’s, just hers) — which was a great occasion, especially because springtime in Lyon is better than wintertime in Lyon (who would have thought?). The issue was: the cat would have been left alone yet another time, barely one day after we last came back from Berlin. Judging by his look when we left for Berlin last Sunday, he would have been none too pleased.
Se we did what any reasonable people would do: stuck him in a bag and brought him on the train to Lyon with us. The thing is, even the bag he was deathly weary of, because my fiancée took him to the vet’s only last Saturday for his yearly check-up — in that very same bag. I’ve never seen a creature jump as high as the little guy did out of this bag as we were trying to stick him in (with no footing at all, a physical feat I would never have been able to achieve, no matter my shape). Which we eventually managed, in a cloud of fur (he loses half his hair every time we move him, which only gets worse with his springtime shedding: double whammy!).
As we were entering the subway, I could feel the cat literally shaking in his bag: he positively hated that part, with so many sounds, smells and random people walking in and out, and his terror was so intense that he literally didn’t move. Except for the somewhat unwilling shaking. By the time we got on the train, he had stopped shaking. Or, rather, was shaking less. And he let out a couple of intrigued “meows” in the car. Halfway through the trip (somewhere around Dijon, I would assume, but I suck at geography, so don’t take my word for it), we opened the bag to give the little guy more space: he didn’t even try to get out, instead slowly falling asleep inside it.
Until we arrived in Lyon and he got hungry. Ah, the life of a cat…