Windows are closed. Appliances are unplugged. Mail is stopped. iPod is charged and I just finished writing out directions on how to work the TV for Melissa, who will be holding down the fort (good luck with the TV!) while Zach and I are gone. All pretty trivial things and nothing compared to the biggest pre trip item: dealing with Harriet (see above). Zach's dad, Augie, is taking care of Harriet for the summer (THANK YOU!), which means that all I had to do was to get her out to Greenport, Long Island. I didn't see this being a problem considering what a chubby little love bug she usually is.
The plan was to rent a Zipcar, scoot out to LI, drop the cat and hit the beach with Melissa, who accompanied me on this adventure. I knew Harriet doesn't like her cat carrier. It doesn't help that the box says ASPCA on it and probably reminds her of darker times. I also knew that she would meow for the first hour of the ride. What I didn't expect is that in her howling and salivating frenzy, she would shit herself right as we were merging onto the Williamsburg Bridge. Harriet freaked out. She wanted out of that box, and rightfully so, but we were in a rental car and I was not about to let Poo Paws roam freely. We put the windows down to air out the car, but as we were entering traffic on the BQE, Harriet jammed her wide-eyed, drool soaked head up through the cardboard handles and turned up the volume and desperation in her meowing. I was driving and Melissa isn't too fond of cats, but Harriet was choking herself, trying to escape and about to soil the upholstery. We pulled over, stuffed her back in the box and put Melissa's laptop case on top so that she couldn't get out. Harriet calmed down for about an hour, but made another run for it. This time, she shoved the laptop case off the cat carrier and got half of her body out of the box before we could pull over. After a desperate call to mom about how to handle a crazed cat (Mom said, "Duct Tape!"), Melissa spend the rest of the trip sitting next to Harriet, with one hand on the box.
As if she wasn't traumatized enough, I gave Harriet a bath at her new summer home. (First impressions are very important and she was not about to make a very good one!) I should have taken a picture, but at that point it just felt cruel ;) We left Harriet curled up under the bed and hit the tasting room at Duck Walk Vineyard (Blueberry Port anyone? Yes please!)
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