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The Postscript: “A Good Cat”

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Our cat, Felix, has a new home.
We adopted Felix in Mexico while we were staying there. The woman who fostered him, Marcela, thought he was a kitten because he was so small—except for his tail, which appears to be intended for a much larger cat.
But when I took him to the vet, they said he was two years old. I worried he was going through a lot of changes rather quickly for a two-year-old. He lived on the streets until he was picked up by Marcela, then he came to live with us in Mexico. Now, Felix and Peter and I are returning to the U.S. together.
Felix got all his shots and had very official-looking papers filled out, proving he was ready for travel. I put him in his little backpack carrier, and we all boarded the van to the airport. Felix did not enjoy the hour-and-a-half-long ride on the bus to the airport. He cried every time we went over a big bump or around a sharp curve, so I held him on my lap and prepared for a long day.
But once we got out of the van, Felix enjoyed being carried around the airport, and everything was fine. Except our plane did not arrive.
We waited and waited and finally, we boarded. Felix rode in his little backpack carrier under the seat in front of me. He did not like the sound of the plane taking off, and he didn’t like the turbulence, but once we were in the air, everything was fine once again.
“What a good cat!” I said.
But we arrived in Houston far too late to catch our next flight. The airline put us up in a hotel and, the next thing we knew, we were all at the Sheraton. Felix had food. The hotel had a box. But we had no cat litter.
I made some calls, and the closest place still open was Walmart, several miles away. I called a cab and went to buy cat litter. By this time, it was getting very late. The restaurant at the hotel had closed. Peter called as I was riding back to the hotel.
“I got carryout!” Peter announced. “Felix and I are in the room eating French fries.”
I returned to the hotel room, poured the litter into the box the hotel staff had kindly rounded up, and Felix availed himself of the new facilities immediately.
“What a good cat!” I said.
Felix enjoyed his room at the Sheraton very much. In addition to the French fries, there were a lot of places to explore, and he discovered he could hide under the dust ruffle of the bed and attack our feet. When we went to bed, he climbed up between us.
“What a good cat!” I said.
By the next morning, air travel was old hat for Felix. He didn’t like takeoff, and he didn’t like landing, but in between he napped, except when I slipped him bits of cheese. Snacks are always nice on a flight.
When we finally got to our condo, Felix was very surprised. It’s about four times the size of the little apartment we rent in Mexico. But Felix quietly went about his explorations, used his new litter box and went to bed between us again—in a new bed, a new home, a new country.
“What do you think, Felix?” I asked. Felix purred.
“What a good cat!” I said. “What a good cat,” Peter agreed.
And we all went to sleep and started our new life together.

Till next time,


Carrie Classon

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