When inspiration is confused with insanity

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Y’all ain’t gonna believe this.

You probably already saw the article about a cat who survived 400 miles in the undercarriage of his owner’s truck. If you didn’t, here’s a quick synopsis: Trucker/cat lover gets sick and has to park for several hours with the truck idling, to run the A/C. Sometime during the trucker/cat lover’s illness, his cat gets out of the truck by letting the automatic window down. Trucker/cat lover recovers, can’t find his cat, and has to move on to deliver a load. Trucker/cat lover posts probably the saddest Facebook post ever, telling people to look out for his cat, and he takes off.

“I wonder if the cat will ride with us today.”“I wonder if the cat will ride with us today.”

Lo and behold, after making two deliveries 400 miles in total away from the spot he had parked, trucker/cat lover finds his pet stowed away in the undercarriage of his truck. Trucker/cat lover posts the happiest ending Facebook post ever, and becomes internet famous overnight.

I was no less than enthralled by this story, especially since the cat looks very much like our pet evil-spirit-with-cat-fur. I was enthralled, and I was inspired, once again, to prepare our feline friend to ride with us. Things are different with the specialized and heavy haul. We’re never gone more than a week, and surely to goodness we could survive a week with our cat in the cab.

I neglected to inform George of my plans to acclimate kitty to the inside of the cab. He was busy sleeping and it may or may not have been 5:30 in the morning when I read this fantastic article and was struck with the notion of taking our cat on the day trip he had lined up.

Kitty isn’t afraid of the truck when it’s not running, and due to the stealth needed for this operation, I had no intentions of starting it. I lured him up into the quiet, dark, cab with tuna fish, because I really am a heinous person. We were being all nice, and having some tuna snacks in the truck — kitty was digging it. He finished eating and started sniffing around, jumped up on the bunk. I quietly shut the door, he freaked out a little, but I calmed him down.

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Things were going great, he was relaxed in the bunk, purring, full of tuna. I was full of hope and so very positive that kitty was going to love riding with us, I figured I’d turn the key, not to start the truck, but to turn on the radio, so kitty could get used to sounds in the truck.

Now, I’m not sure if any of y’all have been really close to something when it exploded, but those of you who may or may not have had M-80 experience will appreciate that the instant the key turned and the BEEEEEEEP started, kitty exploded like an M-80 in a cheap tin mailbox. There was suddenly cat in every line of my vision, fur and claws and hissing, swirling around my face, neck, chest, and head in general.

Things were definitely not going great anymore, and I was losing blood at an alarming rate. In what can only be described as a Tippi Hedren “Birds” move, I screamed and pressed my face against the window, causing the cat to further damage my person from behind. I got the key turned and the BEEEEP stopped, but the cat was a thing of perpetual motion at this point.

The garbage men were somewhat surprised when the cat and I fell out of the truck in a bloody heap, after I managed to grasp the handle of the door with my shredded hand. Kitty shot off into the bushes to growl and spit at me, and I did the only thing a decent, sane, human being could do at that point. I stood up, brushed the sticks out of my hair, and asked the garbage man if he was having a nice day. He stated his was apparently better than mine, and we agreed to never speak of the incident again.

Sometimes, inspiration is hard.