Our initial plan for heading to St. Louis after Nonny’s passing was to take the dog and leave the cat at home with our fabulous neighbors coming over to feed her and take care of her box.  Then the dog passed and I knew immediately that I simply could not leave the cat at home.  I have a very bad history of pets passing while I’m gone (it’s happened twice).  We did think about boarding Nimue but even that was giving me anxiety. 

I bought a brand-new kitty carrier – bigger than the one we use for the block-and-a-half transport to the vet – and a new harness.  The plan was to let her out every 100 miles or so and I even brought an aluminum cake pan for a litter box and put some litter in it for traveling.  All of this turned out to be pointless.  Nimue had no interest in how comfortable we were trying to make her.  She didn’t make any noise, but the getting out of the carrier on a harness was not on her list of things to get done that day.  The first time we took her out, she sniffed around a bit, but more puffed up than we’ve ever seen her.  She wouldn’t eat a treat, wouldn’t drink any water, certainly didn’t do any business.  Crickets. 

We tried two more times with the same result.  After that we quit trying.  When we arrived at Nonny’s condo, she headed straight underneath Nonny’s bed.  I was pretty sure it would be time to go home before she came out.  For the next three days, we had to keep Nimue in her carrier for most of the day – with people coming in and out, boxing up stuff, tossing stuff – there was no way to keep her safe except in her carrier.  And when we were gone from the condo, we also kept her in the carrier.  Both my sisters, my niece and nephew all had keys and I didn’t want to run the risk that they might stop by for some reason and accidently let her out. 

All of this made me feel terribly guilty – after all, we were torturing her because of my anxiety.  She would probably have been happier at The Cat’s Meow than with us.  So, it was with a bit of joy that I came into Nonny’s bathroom late on Wednesday afternoon to find Nimue ensconced in the sink looking like butter would melt in her mouth.

On Friday, when we headed home, we put Nimue in the kitty carrier with a few treats, put her on the backseat and drove off.  We talked to her quite a bit during the day but never attempted to take her out – 9+ hours.   Within minutes of getting home, she had eaten, done some business and settled down on her kitty bed in my room.  Like nothing had ever happened.  Apparently no kitty ptsd here!

What do cats call mice on a skateboard?