So another week whizzes by in Cambridge and it's time to come out to Silver for the summer. Sweet Pea managed his usual trick of prising open the closet door and disappearing inside in spite of my best effort to keep it closed, but the gouge on my arm was only about a quarter of an inch deep and the three Band-Aids Amah put on it almost covered it.
No problems with the flights, Sweet Pea a good little Rescue Remedied boy in his travel case once he was in, got to El Paso at 9:00 pm on time and went to the Enterprise counter to pick up the rental (oh HOW American it makes me feel to write that), making my little speech about I asked for a car with only half a tank of gas because the last time I did this it cost me $40 extra just because the tank wasn't empty when I took it back blah blah blah. Just fill it before you return it, says the agent, and there's no charge. May I see your driver's license and credit card, please?
Oh, is that all I have to do? I say, handing over my two pieces of plastic and wondering if I should bother to say Well nobody told me THAT, and then I hear the agent say Do you have an updated license? What? Updated license? I say, closing my eyes, opening them to look at my face the way I looked eight years ago and the printed Expires 05/08/11, well aware that the day's date is 05/27/11. I close my eyes again, thinking This is it, this is proof, the way I'm living is ridiculous, it was bad enough when I lived in two places and now I'm trying to live in three this is proof I can't do it, it's crazy, and open them when I hear the agent telling me she's really sorry but she can't accept an expired license, they did it a couple of months ago and got into real trouble, and I say Of course, I understand, it's fine, it's not your fault but do you know a pet-friendly hotel nearby? I think the Wyndham, she says, and I pick up Sweet Pea in his carrier and drag my wheelie bag off to the board listing hotels near the airport to see if she's right.
Before I start that I call L in Silver to say Don't wait up for me, I won't be there tonight, and explain why. I can barely hear her reply because it's a new cell phone and I haven't learned how to up the volume, but I hear enough to know she's saying she'll come and get me and tell her not to. No way, I shout, I can hardly hear you but don't even think of coming to get me, it's six hours here and back and it's already ten. Mumble mumble, I hear, and repeat what I just said. Mumble mumble. Just don't come, it's crazy, I shout, but check online and find me a pet-friendly hotel. Mumble mumble I'll call you in ten minutes, I hear, which makes me think she heard what I said.
Then I call the Wyndham, 200 yards away, yes they're pet-friendly and they'll send a van to pick me up thank you God thank you Jesus, so I call L back and tell her what I've found out. It agrees with what she found out, and she'll come and get me in the morning.
Off outside and wait for the van, one minute later I'm checking in wondering if they're going to ask me where my kitty litter pan is and what I'll say if they do. Nobody asks, I get to the room and open the can of Gravy Lovers Fancy Feast I brought in case I didn't leave any at the house last year. Sweet Pea not interested. Fill the ice bucket with water, place on floor. Sweet Pea not interested. Open the bottom drawer of one of the bedside tables, tear up a copy of New York Magazine and place Sweet Pea inside the open drawer. Immediately jumps out. Think the small drawer might be too confining. Open the bottom one of the larger chest of drawers, move the torn up pieces of paper into it, repeat the Sweet Pea process all the way through to his jumping out. Put the pieces of paper in the bathroom sink, ditto ditto ditto. Have a light bulb moment and take the top off the toilet tank, up-end it on the floor, repeat, repeat repeat except this time Sweet Pea retires under the bed in disgust. Decide he'll go when he wants to go and retire to bed with the New Yorker.
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