I had a brief impulse to get all cutesy on you and call this “The Fine Art of ReloCATion” but I hate a pun as much as the next guy. More.

Me on the flight from Seattle to Miami after about three hours of sleep...the first night like that of many.

Apologies for my lengthy absence. In a practical sense, internet connections have been non-existent. In addition, traveling with three people, three cats, and nine pieces of luggage was, to put it simply, painful.

To put it less simply:

I wrote that blog for you Friday, and it was pretty much pure chaos from there on out. Stress was running high, and my friends expressed theirs during a lengthy and protracted bickering match that lasted about three days.

Oh joy.

At any rate, allow me to cover the highlights of pulling off such a feat, should you ever feel so stupid.

On Horseshoe Bay beach. I was kind of proud of this artsy shot.

Step one: Clown car experience.

1.  Grossly overload a rented Toyota Camry.

2.  Realize there is no room in said rental car for the third wheel you’ve included in your nightmare (me).

3.  Overreact and come up with a weak plan to call a cab 15 minutes after you originally planned to be at the airport, thereby guaranteeing extraordinary amounts of stress for all parties.

4.  Decide instead to load third wheel vertically into the front seat, where she will lie in a precarious and painful position – wedged between the drivers seat and passenger side door and astride another person in a manner she has not even come close to attempting since she was 13 years old – for 45 minutes.

Me at Jobson Cove - a spot the locals used to use to raid ships that crashed in the surround reef (so said the homeless guy bathing there.)

5.  Pray to whatever you believe in that lying in this manner doesn’t dislocate a disc or damage your back or send you (me) through a windshield or whatever.

6.  Arrive at airport in one piece. Hallelujah!

Step two: Security meltdown

1.  Take three fancy Persian cats through airport security

2.  Refuse to kowtow to the tried and true.

3.  When asked to remove a cat from its carrier and carry it through the scanner, become hysterical that that cat will scratch, kick, bite, break free, and live its life begging at the Anthony’s Seaport Grill.

Horseshoe Bay - bad weather rolling in

4.  Flirt with imprisonment. Get irritated and use words such as “harassment” and “abuse of power” during TSA employee deep dive on bags.

5.  Lose shoes and start wandering around security area sorrowfully looking for them.

6.  Watch as four men escort you a private room for further bag investigation and a thorough excavation of the cat carriers. Ask if the cats will be receiving a cavity exam, and feel stupid when no one realizes that’s meant as a joke or laughs.

7.  Race to gate, realizing you have no food or water for the six-hour flight to Miami.

8.  Discover cat has peed on self in crate

9.  One hour into flight, notice harrowing smell and realize another member of the feline trio has crapped on itself.

10. Take offending cat to the restroom for a sponge bath.

Why would you buy eggs in a jar? Shipped from Portugal?

Step three: Travel waaaay out of your way for dinner

1.  See above note about bickering

2.  Hang out in your room at the airport hotel with the cats until approximately 11:40pm

3.  After a knock at your door, greet your anxious (and hungry) third party member, and join her for a quick meal at the hotel bar at 11:45pm

4.  Learn that hotel bar is no longer serving food, and throw a conniption fit.

5.  If you are one of the two female members of the group, have a drink. If you are me, have a gin martini straight up with four olives (quite possibly the only solid substance you’re going to get tonight) and pray it goes to your head immediately.

6.  If you are the non-female member of the troupe, go and ask the concierge about places to eat, and completely lose your shit when you are told everything is closed. Storm out of the building – on foot – in search of an iHop. An iHop nobody has claimed exists.

If they hadn't cost $7.00 (USD + Bermudian are interchangeable. They even give you change in American money if you ask) I probably would have bought these out of curiosity. And because I like pickled eggs. Usually.

7.  Talk to taxi drivers and return to your comrades at the bar. Explain to them that you just learned there’s a restaurant a few minutes away called “South Beach.” Convince everyone to join you for a quick meal.

8.  Pile into back seat of taxi and ride…and ride…and ride…and cross bridges…and ride…and go to another continent…and ride…all with the growing realization that you are not going to South Beach, the restaurant, but South Beach (and you are in no way, shape, or form dressed to take on South Beach)

9.  Eat a pretty good meal (all things considered), discover a new way to make vodka lemonades (add mint!!!, and get back at 3am, all the while wondering how this day got so damned long.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

More tomorrow on day two of the journey to get here (and hopefully wifi for my own computer so I can upload some photos to augment your reading pleasure).

p.s.

Justice was served. Blueberry neither peed nor pooped himself. In the end, the bad cat was the good one!