Herding Cats

Bob, the trusty ruler of the back yard, went to that great litter box in the sky a few months back.

In order to get over our grief, my youngest daughter and I have recently adopted two new cats.

She wanted the all black ball of fur. I wanted the orange and white guy cause he's the same color as our high school sports teams.

So we made the Deion decision. (When Jerry Jones asked Deion Sanders, "What's it going to take, $15 or $20 million?" Deion answered, "Bofe.")

There was then the small issue of transportation. See, we adopted from a center in Los Angeles. The cats had to get to Texas. And I was the mule.

The black cat was named Midnight by she who will be reckoned with. And he was the first to make the flight home.

Having never traveled with a carry-on pet before, I was stupid enough to call reservations and ask what the deal was. The deal was I got to pay $100 to make a reservation for the cat to sit under the seat in front of me.

Airports always cause anxiety. That's what I blame the next move on.

Going thru security, I put the cat carrier on the belt and thru the xray machine. With Midnight in the carrier.

Not the best idea. The alarms went off. The TSA shut down the line. "Who just put a cat thru the xray machine?"

Well, nobody told me not to. I asked how they would know if there was a stash of black tar heroin or C-4 explosive up Midnight's butt. They said I didn't need to worry about that. Just don't put any more cats thru their machines.

Midnight made it home safe and sound and now rules the garage.

This past Sunday, it was time for Bobby Angel to learn that American knows why we fly. I wisened up.

No call to reservations. (And you know what, nobody ever asked at the counter.)

Back to the security line.

I must admit that I've rolled my eyes more than a few times when grown men and women pull some doorstopper size canine out of a travel bag.

I just got paid back. A grown man pulling a cat out of a bag had folks giving me the, "Is he a pitcher or a catcher?" look.

Bobby Angel is a big boy. With very sharp claws. Who apparently doesn't care for the TSA.

He sank himself deep into me as we strolled thru the metal detector. Then as I was attempting to gather my belongings off the belt, he goes wheels off crazy. I literally caught him by the tail or we'd still be searching LAX for him.

Now, happily, Bobby Angel is safe and sound in the garage as well. At least we think so.

He's hidden himself behind boxes, the old basketball goal, three bicycles, four golf bags, two garden hoses and a rocking horse.

It seems Midnight has established territorial rights on the garage. So Bobby Angel is either going to have to man up, or come sleep with me.

The good news is I never have to search for Midnight. He meets me at the door with that, "What have you been doing cause you haven't been paying enough attention to me" look.

And since he now glows from the radioactivity, this is one black cat that can be found in the dark.