LITMIR.BIZ

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taking me to that place where we sit and wait and wait and wait. And I'm in my basket trying hard to look invisible, wishing I'd perfected the art of feelichatra, while all those snarly, bad-tempered quiffos sit around and drool and whimper and slobber. They've never learned the art of pussano and I'm sure not gonna be the one that offers classes.

      And that's not the worst part. When the waiting's suddenly over, the real trauma begins: I get dragged kicking and screaming backward out of my basket while I scrabble for a claw-hold on the slippery plastic. I try the octopus trick in which I appear to grow four extra legs to make it even harder for them to extract me from the relative safety of my plastic haven. But what hope has a feeli got when it's three deuxjambs to one feeli - even an intelligent and resourceful one like me?

      So I loosen my grip a bit and next thing I'm trying to get traction on that freezing, slippery slab, but my legs just go akimbo and I have to plonk myself in a most undignified fashion on the table. Oh the ignominy of it all. But I don't give in; hell, I never give in. It's just that sometimes, showing some fuzpah - even if it's just pretend fuzpah - can make the whole tawdry episode move along a little quicker.

      But that does not mean that I in any way enjoy the prodding and poking and having that strange deuxjamb feeling me up, sticking things in my ooti, forcing my mouth open and checking out my tonsils and pearly whites. Not to mention staring into my eyes as though I'm gonna tell him something he doesn't know already - like why Catwoman only wears black.

      I can't figure it all out, really. I get a tiny prick in the back of my neck and before I've even thought about feigning an impending schpitzo, I'm being bundled back into the plastic basket. Go figure. So I s'pose if I really think about it, the first scenario ain't so bad. At least it's usually over and done with pretty quick. But it's just dawned on me: Hayoo and Darling wouldn't be packing suitcases, for themselves, if I were just going to Slippery Sam's.

      That means - oh god, no - that means it's horror possibility number two: they're going away-away and they're gonna take me to… to La Cage aux Chats or worse - alCATraz. I try to peer around the corner of the chest to see how many cases they're packing. If it's two, I'm in real trouble. It could be weeks, months even. Darling turns to approach me and I try really hard to attain feelichatra; to just dissolve and disappear completely. But I suspect it's too late since he already knows I'm here.

      The chest suddenly starts to move; I've got to think quick. I launch myself straight up in the air like a Harrier jump jet and manage to get a toe-hold on the top of the chest, figuring that a bit of catrobatics will enable me to fly over their heads onto the bed and from there to… well, anywhere out of reach.

      But I hadn't figured on Darling being such a good catcher. It's all over red-rover when he snatches me right out of the air. Before I can deploy my tentacles he's got me into the plastic basket and he's shutting the door behind me. He puts the carrier down on the bed. I run rings around the inside, trying to get traction and I yarl as loud as I can. If they think I'm going to take this sitting down they've got another thing coming.

      The panic starts to set in big time, and I realise my mouth is starting to go dry. Panting doesn't help, in fact it makes it worse. I'm getting all hyped, I tell you, and I reckon I'm about to indecorously let go a zilly. Actually - maybe that's not a bad idea…

      'Oh, Darling can you smell that?' Hayoo asks.

      'Yes, I can.' Darling's face appears right up close to the wire as he peers in. 'Oh Megsy, you haven't. Tell me you haven't piddled in there.'

      'Meh?' I try to look adorable, putting on my best fuzpah face.

      'Why do you do this every time?'

      'Meh?'

      'I'll get another towel, Darling, but you'll have to be careful not to let her out again.'

      Now that's a thought. I wait for Hayoo to return. As Darling opens the door, I grab his finger in my teeth and, just as he pulls his hand away, I leap out without even touching the sides. In one move I'm out the bedroom door and skidding down the hall into the kitchen. My jambs slide out from under me but just as I'm about to hit the corner of the cabinet, I manage to get traction. Darling is gaining on me, but he too starts to skid.

      I scuffle around in a circle and leap up on the bench and onto the yellum-box in two lightning moves. I skid and feel my back jambs starting to slide off the edge. I can't quite hold on - the top of the yellum-box is too slippery. But now I'm sort of all tangled up in this wiry stuff on the back of the yellum-box. I'm hanging there like the empty clothes Hayoo puts on the wire tree in the garden. I can hear a lot of grunting which I figure is Darling trying to work out what to do next. He puts his arm across the top of the yellum-box but can't quite reach me and then he disappears again. Then he comes back. Oddly, he's a bit taller now and he's looking straight into my eyes. I stare back. I lower my eyebrows and try to look mean.

      'Can you see her, Darling?' Hayoo is obviously right beside Darling now.

      'Yep, but I just can't grab her; she's fallen down behind. I might just be able to reach one paw,' he says, flailing his arms about.

      'Well, we'll have to pull it out.'

      Pull it out? Why would you want to pull my paw out? I shudder. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Next thing I know, the yellum-box starts moving in a sort of ziggy-zaggy motion and I'm hanging on for dear life. I can hear all sorts of funny noises coming from inside it. As it clears the wall beside me, I see Hayoo and leap off the back into her arms. She snuggles me up to her chin and I go all pussano; quirrelling loudly. I don't know why. It's not like I'm happy about this.

      'You silly sausage, what did you do that for? Now, hop in here and calm down.'

      Darling has the door of the carrier aimed at me and, after giving him an appropriately contemptuous look and an audible pfft, I oblige him by stepping in, turning around and plonking myself down. I guess I've just got to hike it or hump it.

      The Lap of Luxury

      So I'm in the back of the car, yarling a bit just to let them know I'm not a happy girl, but otherwise trying to keep a low profile. I'm dreading that any minute now the ticky tack is going to start and we'll slow down to turn onto that gravel road. The road to hell. I flatten myself out until my ears are lower than my chin. Any feelichatra expertise I might ever have had is deserting me.

      But the car isn't slowing down, we're not stopping. I raise my head and just manage to see the sign out the window:

      AlCATraz Boarding Cattery - 2km

      It whizzes by and in an instant is out of view. Phew. But that means- Eeek! It's going to be La Cage aux Chats. I've never actually been there, but I heard some really bad things from some of the others at alCATraz last time. I mean, at least at alCATraz you've got enough room to turn around and you don't have to sleep right next to your own toilet. Hamish, that gorgeous grey I met at alCATraz last time, told me that he'd rather spend a week at Slippery Sam's than ever go back to La Cage aux Chats.

      Hamish said 'cages' really was the right word for the tiny pens there, because the deuxjambs just want to cram more of us in like those chooks with batteries. It'd be like a human trying to eat, sleep and zilly all in a space the size of their rainroom. Hamish was very descriptive.

      And, ooh, he was a honey. Those gorgeous green eyes and that fluurffy tail. Enough to make a usually sensible she-feeli swoon. We talked and talked for days. He had so many fascinating stories and he was genuinely interested in everything I said, even if my life seemed dull compared to his. I wonder what he's up - Holy hell! We're slowing down.

      The ticky tack goes on. I don't dare to look. But I have to. I at least have to know in advance if I'm about to become a sardine-wimby. Once again, I stretch my neck up for a glimpse out the window. My heart's pounding ten to the dozen and I'm about ready to make another unpleasant mess in here. Then I see the sign.

      The Lap of Luxury Holiday Park

      Deluxe accommodation for your contented cat

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