Jack and the Kitten Hopper took off on Frontier Flight 791 this morning at 8:20 a.m. I was sure the plane would be early on the other end, because I was also sure that Jack would likely drive the pilot crazy.
You see, Jack would NOT shut up with his incessant whining and crying that began the moment I shoved him into his cage/crate/torture chamber this morning at 5:30 a.m.
The Kitten Hopper seemed a little more interested, perhaps even amused by the whole adventure. He had that coolness that is usually reserved for those people with the most extremist of positions, like John Birch Society members, The Mossad, and perhaps Al-Qaeda.
Jack on the other hand, reacted more like we sent a boy in to do a man's job. He appeared at PDX airport where my husband Brian picked him up, simpering, miserable and wet (from the water bowl apparently spilling in his crate during one of which I'm sure were several tantrums/breakdowns).
By the time Brian got them at the cargo area, the freight guy handed Jack over with a look of "I'm sorry, man."
Whereas Kitten Hopper arrived in a style befitting a 21-lb. cat. "What kind of cat IS that?" the freight guy asked Brian.
Just a plain old American house cat, Brian said as he lugged him to the car.
Well, one that never misses a meal (or Jack's either).
Welcome to Oregon, boys. I'll see you in a coupla weeks. The dog won't miss you a bit.
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