Travel(l)ing with Cats

(I always feel obligated to make it known that my writing is done in American Standard English, which has obviously different spelling to the UK and Ireland. That’s ever since some delightful guy in the UK gave a 1 star review on A Celtic Yearbook, claiming I didn’t know how to spell!)

So, on with the story. In 2020 I had to make a decision once and for all … to stay in Northern Ireland or return to Oregon. I’d been back in Northern Ireland full time since 2017, and when Dad died in 2019, I decided that I’d return to the States, but first I’d stick around in Northern Ireland so I could go to my nephew’s wedding in England in early 2020. But then COVID struck. Poor Daniel had to postpone his wedding, and I was content to wait a few more months, laying low in Dad’s house to ride out the pandemic. But the wedding was postponed yet again, and in June Dad’s house was sold. I could have returned to the States then, but with the COVID restrictions on flying internationally, the nonstop flight I’d booked with Aer Lingus from Dublin to Seattle had been removed from service until further notice.

I had adopted two beautiful black cats in 2017 and as I intended to bring them with me, I opted to wait until Aer Lingus had that direct flight up and running again. It was bad enough expecting the two poor animals to fly for over 9 hours trapped in a noisy cargo hold, but if I travelled then, we were looking at three legs of a daunting 24 hour journey.

As the date approached for me to hand over the keys to Dad’s house to the new owners, it looked like I’d be forced to take that terrible journey, as every rental I’d inquired into didn’t want a short term renter. And I really didn’t know how long I’d be staying. It was thanks to my childhood friend, June Wilson, that a contact of hers stepped up with a 3 month rental quite close to where she and my brother Ian and his family live in Carryduff. I was delighted with the little apartment! It was exactly what I was looking for. I’ll be eternally grateful to my brother Ian, and Neil and Geri, along with a friend’s husband who helped me move everything in his van. I was able to use a lot of Dad’s furniture, which would have gone to a tip as no one had wanted to buy or even take it for free. June welcomed me to the town with some really thoughtful housewarming gifts: snazzy mirrored numbers to put on the outside of my apartment, a hanging plant for the doorway, and battery operated lights to place on the dark staircase up to the apartment.

I took those 3 months to really consider my options. It had been wonderful to live back in the country I grew up in, and to be close to Ian and his family, my dear cousin Clare who’d been like a rock for me to hang onto when I cared for Dad during his dementia, and the incredible friends I had there, new and old.

But COVID went nowhere and knowing I couldn’t stay in limbo forever, I got on the phone to Aer Lingus to find out what flights were available. Only as far as Chicago, which is only halfway from Ireland to Oregon. I bit the proverbial bullet and booked a flight in September. I had no idea if this was the right decision or not, but I had to act. The landlord needed his apartment back so he could rent it to a long-term tenant, and I had a problem with paying rent indefinitely when I owned a perfectly beautiful house in Oregon.

So, I began the arduous tasks of preparing my departure from Northern Ireland. The cats had to be examined by their vet, all shots up to date, and formal paperwork for immigration to the States. I had to drive the hundred miles to Dublin airport to pick up the official carrier that the pet shipping carrier there required. Over the (invisible) border to Eire, the Gardaí (their police) stopped me at a COVID checkpoint to inquire whether my journey was necessary or not. I explained, and apparently picking up pet carriers for cats emigrating to America was indeed necessary!

I then proceeded to divvy up my possessions. Furniture and items separated into groups, with friends’ names on them so they could come and pick it up after I’d left. It was dreamlike. I felt like I was watching someone do all this, and not myself doing it. June kindly let me store some suitcases in her attic, and I painstakingly packed everything left into two cases that would travel with me. Including the cats’ bowls, food, traveling litter box, litter, and toys! I saw my friends, one by one, to say goodbye. I felt so emotionally overloaded that I think I shut down for a while. It was too intense.

Then the day dawned for my departure. I got up at 4:00 AM to get ready, and Ian appeared at my door at 6. I wasn’t quite ready; not sure where the time went to. We got poor Garak and Tuvok into their separate carriers and dragged my cases down the narrow stairs and outside to Ian’s car. My little Sputnik, the Ford Ka stayed parked outside the apartment, waiting for my niece, Fiona, to come and pick it up. I’d transferred ownership to her the previous week. I was numb to the fact that I was leaving everything behind yet again. How many times had I done that? Too many to remember.

It took a couple of hours to get to the cargo area, north of Dublin airport, but we got there in time. I opened the carriers and dropped some recommended CBD oil for pets onto their front paws, so they’d lick it off and hopefully feel a little calmer. I held each of them for a moment and prayed to the universe that they’d arrive safely in Chicago.

Ian then dropped me outside Dublin airport, which was completely deserted. I was four hours early for my flight, but we’d had to drop the cats off at a specific time. I hugged Ian goodbye, grateful beyond words for his help, and I kept telling myself that I’d see him again; this wasn’t a final ‘goodbye’.

I entered the airport, which was eerily deserted. The only person I saw was a young priest checking in for his flight. Feeling slightly ridiculous calling someone younger than me ‘Father,’ I asked him where Aer Lingus check-in was, and he kindly pointed me in the right direction.

When I’d first booked my flight, before COVID, I’d decided to return in style, so had treated myself to first class. Because of the pandemic, all niceties had been stripped, however. No first class lounge! No mimosas! So, I made my way through security and US Immigration, before settling at the gate for a few hours.

On board, I told the flight attendant about Garak and Tuvok below, and she assured me the captain would go down and check on them. I’m not sure if he did or not, but she came back to tell me they were settled and safe. There was only one other person in the first class cabin, so I toyed with the idea of offering a substantial amount of money to have the kitties brought up to the cabin but decided it wouldn’t be allowed.

About eight hours later, we landed in Chicago. Bright, hot, noisy. God help Garak and Tuvok. What a difference from quiet little Carryduff. Neil was amazing. He’d flown out from Oregon the day before to meet my plane, because Alaska Airlines only allowed one cat per passenger in the cabin. It was so strange to be back after a few years. It’s so different, yet so familiar. We got my luggage and took a taxi to the cargo area to get the kitties but were told it would be another couple of hours before we could pick them up. So, another taxi to the Hilton beside the airport, one of the few hotels allowing cats… at $50 a night each. I was practically clawing my way out of my skin by this time. All I wanted was to see that the cats were all right. Eventually, we were called behind the counter, and there were the carriers. I dropped to my knees in front of Garak’s, and saw a terrified, wild-eyed, feral-looking cat, and my heart felt like it had stopped. I said his name, and immediately he focused, seeing me. He was still in there! Tuvok, being a less complicated kitty, was just fine, watching all the stir and looking unconcerned.

Back to the hotel, where the wee loves could finally leave the carriers. Of course they went straight under one of the beds! I put out dry and wet food, filled the water bowl, prepared their travel litter box, then had a shower and promptly fell asleep. Early the next morning, we transferred the boys into the soft carriers we had, that would go under the seats in front of us on the plane. Those poor cats submitted with utter despondency. At least I could slip treats and water to them during the flight and reach down and pet them through the carrier.

About five hours later, we collected our luggage and I waited while Neil brought the car to Arrivals. I got in the back seat with the carriers on either side of me. Garak had had enough, and was fighting and clawing at his carrier, so I unzipped it to cuddle him. He wouldn’t leave the carrier, but when I unzipped Tuvok’s, he made a beeline under the driver’s seat and hid.

Finally, in about an hour, which was a lifetime too long for the boys, we pulled up at the house. Neil took Garak inside and up to my bedroom. Meanwhile, I was trying to pry Tuvok’s wolverine-type claws from the car carpet, which he did not want to relinquish his hold of. Terrified, I cradled him tightly in my arms and ran for the door, worried he might attempt to run away.

I settled them both in my room and shut the door so they could take time to quietly adjust. In bed that night, they both joined me as they had always done in Northern Ireland, and the amount of gratitude I felt was all-encompassing. We’d made it!

The next day they explored the house and the wonderful new catio Neil had built for them. It was obvious that they loved their new home! Here they had oodles of space to roam, and fresh air, squirrels, hummingbirds, and entirely new scents to enjoy.

Now it’s six years later, and it’s as though they always lived here. They’re happy boys, and I hope they stay that way for a long time.