This morning started a little rocky. We woke up at 8 loaded the car, and then we couldn’t find the Queen’s cat. Did I mention we brought her? Yeah, The kitty was in a travel box. We let her loose in the room. When it came time for us to go, it looked like she’d snuck out to enjoy the St. Louis countryside while we loaded the car.
“Is she under the bed?” I asked lifting the bedspread.
“She can’t get under there, it’s solid.”
We spent the next hour scouring the Motel 6 room: no kitty. Sitting in the doorstep, we ate bagels and cream cheese, hoping she’d come back if we just gave her time. She didn’t.
While we were loading the car, our neighbor had loaded his. After he left, I suggested that maybe the cat had gone into the other room. The “enthusiastic” motel staff told me that when the housekeeping staff came on, we could look. Luckily that didn’t take long.
The cat wasn’t there either. We waited a little longer until the Queen made the call.
“Ok, let’s go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t sound so sure. Having lost my dog six months prior, I understood the personal nature of such a decision. I needed to support whatever decision she made.
We stopped for coffee and gas and hit the road. I reached over and held the Queen’s good leg and squeezed it, explaining how the kitty would be alright. The area surrounding the motel had a water source and plenty of birds. Between that and visitors bearing food, the kitty will be fine.
It didn’t help. I watched her lower lip jut and quiver as tears rolled down her cheek. This morning, she’d lost a friend.
“We can go back if you want.” I offer. I hate to see her like this.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! This is your trip. We’re on your timetable. We can stay all day and wait for her to come back if that’s what you want to do.”
“Well, I just feel guilty. I feel like if we just go back, she’ll be there waiting, asking where we were.” She’s still crying.
“Then we’ll go back.”
One off ramp and a U-turn later we’re back at the motel. We park in front of the room look around. There’s no cat. “Let’s sit under the tree and drink our coffee.” The queen says.
I say the only word I know, “Ok.” We sit down and I wrap my arm around her. She’s holding it in now. She’s being the brave pirate.
The maid is in the room next to ours. She comes out, “Oh, it’s you.” She says. Then after a second asks, “Did you loose your cat?”
“Yeah, did you find her?”
“Yes. She’s in the room. She’s hiding behind the bed. The maintenance man tried to get her out, but she clawed him.”
The Queen isn’t even waiting for the rest of the conversation. She’s up and at the door waiting for the woman to open up. There’s the Princess. The bed may be solid, but there’s a space behind it. We’d searched everywhere else.
Two hours later, we’re back on the road. So far, it’s been much better.
Hang on, The Queen is calling, I need to stop typing---Oh she’s pointing out a sign.
“Sochsabuchi! I’ve seen him!”
“Uh what?”
He’s a fiddler. Playing in Branson. Yeah, I realize that’s probably not how he spells his name but I didn’t see the sign. OK, back to typing. The Queen calling signs is my favorite. I’m glad to see her happy again.
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