Carlo, busting out all over the place

Carlo is making a liar out of me. After warning my parents and pre-apologizing for the fur-suited hellion we were inflicting on them, he turned on the charm to be the sweetest, cuddliest, not-onto-countertops-jumpingest kitty ever. Well, except for the part where he was a total ass to my sister's cat. He even hopped up onto my mom's lap, sealing his position as her favorite child/grandchild. He even edged Ginger out, because she doesn't pay Mom much attention anymore.

He also turned out to be a chill travel cat. He was happy to lounge on the back shelf-y thing (under the back windshield) for the majority of the trip, breaking that up with naps in the passenger's lap. We only had one incident with him and it totally wasn't even his fault (imagine!). On the drive back to SF, we stopped, as usual, in Kettleman City for food and public restrooms. When we went back to the car, we pondered letting the cats out for a stretch and pee session, but decided against it because 1) generally, cats can hold it (Vin held it for nearly 15 hours when we flew from Connecticut to California) and 2) neither of them peed on the way to L.A. You see where this is going, right? Yeah, it's actually much worse. About five minutes after getting back on I-5, Carlo started pacing around the car and yowling. Sure, it was a little odd, because he'd spent the previous 3 hours zonked out, but pacing and yowling are two of his favorite activities at home, so we figured he was bored and that it was the kitty equivalent of "are we theeeere yeeeeet."

So he's pacing, I'm trying to calm him down, and finally, he kind of hunkers down behind the driver's seat (Chris was driving), so I twist around in my seat to scritch his chin and speak to him in soothing tones. "Oh, what's wrong Carlito? Why are you crying, baby?" Keep in mind, he's all black and night had fallen--I only know he's back there by touch. "Oh, pobresito…are you bored? Why are you hiding down there? And…hello, what's…oh god…what's that smell?! Oh god! Stop the car! STOP THE CAR! THE CAT SHIT IN THE CAR!!" That's right. Carlo pooped. In the car. As I scritched his chin. The poor dear was desperately trying to find a suitable place to relieve himself and even warned us out loud, but the stupid humans didn't pick up on it. To his credit, he picked the best spot in the car on which to poop (if there is such a thing): Chris's nylon gym bag, which was easily washed off at a nearby gas station.* But he seemed embarrassed by the gaffe, and crept back into his carrier, where he spent the rest of the trip.

Of course, he's back to his old tricks already. He spent the hours between 4:30 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. ping-ponging all over the apartment, using our bed as a springboard. Every 5 minutes, the bed would shudder as he bounced off of it on his way back to the kitchen. Car-pooping bastard.

*I have to note here that we were closing in on a bunch of exits with gas stations as I yelled, "HE SHIT IN THE CAR! PULL OVER!!!" I was really concerned, because I-5 has those stretches of, like, 30 miles with no gas stations. And Chris's response was…just…baffling: "Really? Do we have to stop? Can't you just, like, grab it with a napkin?? Do we really have to get off the freeway?" DUDE. There is CAT SHIT. ROAMING FREE. IN THE CAR. Uncontained cat turd is upon us, and you don't want to stop? DO YOU NOT SMELL THE FOUL ODOR OF KITTY INTESTINAL DEATH??" I'm beginning to question Chris's sanity, y'all.