Rasmenia

“Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.” ― Robertson Davies

“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” ― Ernest Hemingway

“Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.” ― Robert A. Heinlein

*

“I think you might have a dysfunctional relationship with your cat,” Olivier said as he watched the cat curl herself around the top of my head.

“What? Crazy talk. Nonsense. We have a perfectly normal & healthy relationship.” I nuzzled my face up against her whiskers. “I’m sure lots of people share their pillow with a cat every night.”

“Lots of weird cat people.”

“Careful. You’re offending the cat.”

I suppose he could have a point. Me & Cat (yes, my cat’s name is Cat) might have a dysfunctional relationship, but it’s been functioning quite well for the two of us for the past decade & a half. Me & Cat, we prefer to think of it as a symbiotic relationship.

See, we lived alone together for a long time before I married Olivier. I wouldn’t say I was a crazy cat lady. I mean, I’m married, I don’t think I meet the minimum age requirement just yet & I think to officially be a crazy cat lady, one should have several cats. A shit load of cats. I just have Cat. Singular.

However, I will admit to a few other similarities.

Never mind that me & Cat have frequently engaged in full-length conversations. Forget the fact that we used to sit on the couch destroying a King Sooper’s rotisserie chicken & a wedge of roquefort together. I’m sure all cat owners do this. They do… don’t they?

Cat has been with me through 2 failed relationships, 6 moves (one across the Atlantic), the first 6 years of my marriage & 3 jobs. She’s traveled at my side by car, train & airplane. We’ve taken long walks & camping trips together.

So far, she’s been the longest & most stable relationship in my life.

When I wake up from a bad dream, or cry because some horrible life thing has made me sad, she’s there, tiny cat arms on either side of my big, stupid, human neck. Her tiny paw touches my cheek, she looks me in the eye & squeaks out some comforting words of cat-speak.

I don't understand her words, but I'm sure they are very wise.

Laugh if you want to. Roll your eyes if you like, but she helps me out when I need her to.

Just as I’ve laid on the floor next to her or held her whenever she got sick, or had a medical procedure.

When I trudge up the stairs to my home office, getting myself psyched up to write, she’s already there, standing on my desk, waiting for me. If not, it’s because she’s trudging up the stairs right along with me.

Like a writer's cat should.

The night that Olivier & I stayed up all night talking about his big move to the U.S., when we decided at 2am that it would probably be a lot easier for me to move to France instead, the first thing I said to him was, “Can I bring Cat? I won’t come if I can’t bring my cat.”

And it’s not just me anymore. It’s happened more than once where Olivier, after a particularly bummer of a day has said, “I’m sad. Where’s Cat? I need Cat.”

“Well, sure,” Olivier says. “That’s all fine & good, but… do you have to let her drink out of your glass?”

“Hey,” I say, “if it was okay with Hemingway, it’s sure as shit okay with me. Besides, do you expect her to drink from a bowl like some kind of dog?”

Evidence that sharing a drinking glass with my cat makes me a little bit of a badass.

“Okay, okay… yeah. Maybe sometimes it is kind of weird,” I say.

“Sometimes?”

“Whatever, dude. You’ve got your own dysfunctional relationship going on.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” My husband turns his nose up to the air, scoffing at my accusation. But, I’m pretty sure I’m right about this one.

Just sayin'.

Dysfunctional? Yeah. Probably. Is sitting in the dog’s crate or sharing eating utensils with the cat some wacky shit to do?

Maybe… but so what. It’s not like we’re fucked up enough to dress them up in humiliating outfits.

I'd probably get slapped in the face again if I ever tried it.

“What greater gift than the love of a cat.” ― Charles Dickens

“No vacation goes unpunished.” ~Karl Hakkarainen

“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.” ~Lin Yutang

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” ~G.K. Chesterton

.

When the guy across the aisle from us began discussing stabbings & which mixture of drugs enabled him to best endure such an incident, I knew that I had had enough of fucking Greyhound.

We arrived at the Greyhound station in Denver after our brief stop in Amarillo.  We had 2 hours to stand in a line in front of the door where the bus would arrive.  Sucking down our mediocre & over-priced nachos, Olivier & I observed that while the bus station in Denver was larger & cleaner than what we’d grown accustomed to, being forced to watch Fox News on the overhead TV screens negated size & cleanliness.

We were almost there.  Just another 45 minutes on the bus from Denver to Ft. Collins & the shitty bus ride would be over… & we’d only be arriving 1 day late.  Yes, we spent an extra 24 hours bent over while Greyhound stuck it to us.

Finally, we boarded the bus to Ft. Collins – an hour late, no reason given.  An enormous man from Tennessee sat across the aisle & just in front of us.  He seemed to only speak gibberish that was indecipherable.  Olivier & I watched in helpless horror as he removed his shirt, sitting in his seat topless.

“Ok,” I said.  “That’s a clear indication that it’s time to get off the fucking bus.”

“Oh my Gawd,” Olivier said.  “That’s so fucked up, I don’t even wanna think about it.  We have to go before he takes something else off.”

Luckily, we arrived in Ft. Collins moments later, where a friend was waiting to pick us up, in spite of the fact that it was 1:00 in the goddamn morning.

Now the next week until our flight home to France would be easy.  Well… easier than a cross-country trip on Greyhound.

Sure, we had shopping to do.  We had precious American products to buy – important things like Pop-Tarts, Levi’s & Ranch Dressing.

We had very important places to go to…

I hadn’t been home for 2 years, so I had dozens of people to see.  That meant a hell of a lot of socializing.  Let me just say this about socializing: I don’t like it.  I’m not sociable & regardless of how much I may like someone, I’m not one to call & chat on the phone, or make big plans to get together with them.

Yeah… & party planning… not real big on that, either.

But, I managed to plan a couple of parties – by “parties”, I mean set a date & time for a bunch of people to go to a bar, where I would be drinking.

For the most part, this worked pretty well.  Most people have no problem being told to go to a bar.  If they’re free, they go.  If they’re busy, they don’t.  Simple.

Again, I’ve expected too much from the humans.

New Year’s Day found us at a bar in the town where I grew up, a town that I despise & become slightly nauseous upon entering the city limits: Longmont, CO.

Welcome back to the worst years of your life.

But, I admit… swilling Guinness with people that I haven’t seen in 2, 10 or even 20 years was all right… as far as socializing goes.

It didn’t suck, is what I’m saying.

However, I had planned a 2nd gathering with a different group of friends for the following night.  It should have been easy.  Go to a bar… or do not go to a bar.  Instead, I had to stop checking my email due to the slew of messages that I was receiving.

“Um… yeah.  I don’t wanna do that.  Maybe you could make time just for me.”

“Well, I don’t want to go to THAT bar.  Maybe we can go somewhere else.”

“I’m not going if THEY’RE going.”

“I’m not going unless (insert name here) is going.”

I began to feel as though I was planning a birthday party for a group of spoiled Jr. High kids.  In the end, I gave up, I stopped checking my emails & messages.  With the Peril in Pennsylvania, the Voyage through the Various Circles of Hell & a full itinerary of things to do in Colorado, I just couldn’t find the time to cater to any last-minute whining, or appease any complaints.

Then again, I’ve never been much of a people-pleaser.

"They want me to do WHAT?"

In the end, the quibbling & moaning was ignored, beer was drunk, food was eaten, laughs were had & butter knives were wielded… for some reason.

A week later, Olivier & I found ourselves in an airport in Salt Lake City.  We’d caught an earlier flight out of Denver to be sure we wouldn’t get fucked out of our flight to Paris.  Yes, it’s a little out of the way when traveling from Denver to Paris, but by this time, we were immune to such things.  Our home in France was in our sights for the first time in 3 weeks, we would soon be reunited with our fuzzy feline & we would be a whole family unit once again.

Olivier laughed in the seat next to me.  “You do realize that the plane we’re about to board is the only mode of transportation that is on time & that we were actually supposed to be on?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “But we shouldn’t talk to much about it.  Something could still go wrong.”

Luckily, nothing did.  Other than the fact that we had shitty movies… but, isn’t that a typical & expected problem on an international flight?

We arrived at Charles De Gaulle airport on time.  We found a taxi right away to take us back home.  It was snowing, we were cold, exhausted & longing for home… & a real espresso.

Dragging our luggage through the door, we were greeted by the yowling & mewling that we’d been missing for the past few weeks.

Mind telling me where you two have been?

Our bags laying on the floor around us in a scattered mess, I scooped up our cat & squeezed her as hard as I could without smooshing her completely.

“I get it,” I said.

“What do you mean?”  Olivier’s voice was muffled in our tiny group hug.

“Remember at the very end of Return of the King, after Samwise puts his buddies on the boat, then comes home, scoops up his kid & says that he’s back?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “It’s kind of like that.  Know what else?”

“No,” I said.  “What?”

“You’re a total geek.”

He was right.  It was geeky, but it was true.  Indeed, when I entered our home that afternoon, I felt as though I had just been to Mt. fucking Doom & back.  We had fun, we had some complete fucking misery… people had disappointed me beyond belief, while others had pleasantly surprised me beyond my expectations.

It’s all quite blurry now, but what I remember of it all is full of various landscapes, faces & suitcases.  There was eating, drinking, merriment &… mucous.

Fucking holiday travel.  It’s always a lot of planning & stress, but we had a plan – a simple plan.  We believed that there was no way that it could fail.  We were mistaken – the entire plan failed, everything went wrong.

So, we’ll probably be staying home here in France for a while.  That is, until we can come up with some new & exciting way to torture ourselves… of course, this adventure will be hard to top.

"The brochure says we can try the Thumbscrews, the Breast Ripper AND the Rack."

It’s all quite blurry now, but what I remember of it all is full of various landscapes, faces & suitcases.  There was eating, drinking, merriment &… mucous.

Fucking holiday travel.  It’s always a lot of planning & stress, but we had a plan – a simple plan.  There was no way that it could fail.

We had a direct flight from Paris to Pittsburgh, PA.  We would rent a car, then drive 3 hours to a tiny, rural town just outside the middle-of-freaking-nowhere.  After 1 week, we would board a Greyhound bus to Colorado.  Another week there & we would fly from Denver back to Paris.

There were various parties, reunions & get-togethers planned in several different locations with dozens of people.

Ok, so it wasn’t really such a simple plan.  Maybe we’d hit a snag here or there; 1 or 2 little things could go wrong.

Or… everything could go wrong.

Olivier & I woke up at 4:30am on December 20th.  I stared at the wall with the one eye that I could hold open as I drooled into a quadruple espresso.  Olivier was on the couch with his laptop.  In 2 hours, a car would be coming to take us to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.

“Putain,” he said, rubbing his face with his hands.  “Our flight to Pittsburgh is canceled.”

I groped at the curtains & peeked outside.  It looked like a photo negative – all black & white; snow & starless sky.

“So,” I said.  “We go to the airport & stand around like fucking idiots for the day?”

“Pretty much,” he said.  “But, at least we’ll be together.”

Makes everything better.

We finished getting ready & spent a decent amount of time squeezing our cat, who we’re certain was feeling bitter about our departure, even though we had hired a service to come visit her once a day to see to her every need & demand.

"Whatever. Just go. Jerks."

The airport was full of people rushing to catch their flights.  Others were yawning in security lines, but many of them were bouncing around like headless chickens because their flight had been canceled or delayed.

At a chaotic & confusing time, people generally lose any capacity of common sense, courtesy or rational thinking.  Sure, a great number of people may be in the exact same mess, but it seems to be the nature of most humans to think, “Sure, we’re all fucked, but my problem is greater than anyone else’s – I’m more important.”

So, you get people snapping at one another, pushing & shoving, cutting in lines, or bitching at anyone fool enough to make eye contact.

This was our morning at the airport.

Standing at the Delta service counter, an employee was working to get us on another flight.

“Where are you flying to?”

“We were on the canceled flight to Pittsburgh.”

“Ok, ” he said.  “I can get you on a flight to Salt Lake City.”

“Um…ok,” Olivier said.  “But, do you have anything that lands a little closer to Pennsylvania?”

A woman with 2 children & a vapid-faced man in a felt cowboy hat crowded behind us in the exit aisle.  I turned around to see what was rubbing up against me & accidentally made eye contact.  She began jabbering at me in French as she leaned on my suitcase.  Olivier turned around & explained to her that she was standing in an exit, that if she needed help, she would be better off standing in a line approaching the service counter, rather than blocking the one leading away from it.

“Well, ” she snorted.  “I’m in a hurry.  My flight was canceled.”

“Yeah,” Olivier said.  “Like everyone else.”

He returned his attention to the Delta employee.  The woman then turned to me & continued her tirade.  “I have 2 children & I’m in a hurry,” she complained.

“Désolée.  Je ne comprends pas… je ne parle pas français,” I lied.  Playing dumb foreigner is a convenient luxury that I don’t have in the U.S.

Eventually, Delta employee got us on a flight to Cincinnati, where we would be able to catch a flight into Buffalo, NY.  Good enough.

About 9 hours later, we arrived in Cincinnati, where we confirmed our flight into Buffalo.  It didn’t leave for another 4 hours.  We were exhausted, but Delta bought us dinner & as I’m sure you know, free food lightens any shitty situation.  Even free food from a desolate airport food court in the middle of the night.

It doesn't matter that this isn't real meat.

As soon as we arrived in Buffalo, we picked up our rental car.  We still had a 2-hour drive to our destination, but both of us were tired enough that we had stopped forming coherent sentences. It was the middle of the night.  It was snowing & the roads were icy.  I was positive that I had seen a man riding a camel out in the snow, but Olivier argued that this was some fatigue-induced hallucination.  I think that he was just being difficult.

The logical thing to do was to stop for the night, so we sought refuge at Econolodge.

The 2-hour drive was uneventful.  The weather went from sort of snowy to oh-fuck-I-can’t-see-shit snowy & then back again.  Either way, it was better than sitting in an airplane, or bumming around an airport eating sandwiches made of lips & assholes while people bitch at strangers.

Not to mention the fact that I was just excited to be back in my own country again, even if for a short time.

Our destination was the little town of Warren, PA.  It’s not a place that I am all that familiar with, but I do have several relatives there that I was excited to spend some time with & Olivier was looking forward to meeting some more members of my family – most likely to dredge up some more dirt on me.

We arrived safely & only 1 day late.  About an hour after we entered the house, I turned to Olivier & informed him that I was getting sick, which I have a habit of doing when we travel.

“Oh, shit,” he said.  “Again?  Well… at least we’re together.”

“Yeah, that’s something,” I said.

“And now that we’re finally here, we can relax,” he said.

At least… that’s what we thought.