Kitty did not like to travel. The cat manual was clear on this matter and he was a conservative cat. Not having read the manual well, I had decided to take him with us to Tahoe. We rented a van to give him room to move around, rented a cottage with a yard for him to roam, read up on how to use shoe boxes to create a port-a-potty for cats, all with the confidence that he loved adventure and that once we showed him the beauty of the outside world, he’d be penning the feline version of “In Patagonia”. Alas! He hated the travel so much that on our way home, he leaned forward from the rear seat and slapped my hand hard. He meowed his unhappiness loudly and sulked in a corner for the rest of the drive. Yet, despite this, he traveled all the way to India, lived there for a while and traveled back to the US. Events before he even came to be with us had set this ball rolling.
In the beginning of 2004, her medical residency and fellowship complete, Shanthala returned to India for two years to fulfill her visa obligations. Needless to say, I followed with an uncomprehending Kitty in tow. Well before we did this, I researched and planned extensively to ensure that his stay here would be smooth. Shanthala, ever the optimist, had concluded early on that he’d be fine. I, ever the cynic, armed with knowledge of new world populations decimated by old world diseases and a fantastic imagination, needed a little more convincing.
The very first thing I wanted to ascertain was that cats in India would not be exposed to germs unheard of in the US, that our new world cat would not repeat history in the old world. Given his compromised kidneys and the rarity of cats as a pet in India, I ensured that the vets knew how to treat feline disorders. Many countries, especially islands, have extensive quarantines on pets transported from other lands. This means the pets are segregated from their owner and placed in a medically supervised place for the duration of the quarantine. In places like Australia, this period is as long as six months. We were lucky that both India and mainland USA did not have such restrictions. They only needed a medical certificate which showed that his vaccines were current. A call to the vet in the US ensured they knew the procedure.
With all this behind me, we tackled his mode of travel. There are two kinds of airlines: those that allow you to travel with your pets and those who treat pets as cargo. I prefered the former. In my halcyon days, when I dreamed of Kitty sharing a meal with us on top of the Eiffel tower, I discovered a website – put together by a couple who had traveled extensively with their cat – that provided a lot of relevant information on traveling with a finicky feline. Lufthansa, with a service from San Francisco to Bangalore via a connection at Frankfurt, had not only a shorter flying time to India, but also allowed pets in the cabin. The total weight of the pet and the cage had to be not more than 8 kgs. Kitty, a well rounded cat, just managed to squeeze in under this limit.
We wanted to make his move as non-traumatic as possible. One big help to this end would be a place ready for us to move into when we landed in India so that he’d go from our home in California to the one in Bangalore without an additional transitory stop. I traveled to Bangalore in March 2004 to attend a family function. Shanthala and I used this time to search for a place to stay. My parents house was far from my office and not conducive for working from home. This would also force Kitty to be indoors during his entire stay in India. Since he enjoyed being out for a while everyday, we wanted this to be our last option. So, we needed a separate place to stay.
After searching high and low, we finally found a charming place, the first floor of a rather old bungalow, with a decent yard with high walls that would prevent Kitty from escaping to the world outside, a world of feral dogs and dangerous motor traffic. Unlike the US, in India nobody seemed to mind that we wanted to also house an animal. Surprised that we had a cat, not a dog, they seemed unconcerned otherwise. They also assured us their two dogs rarely used the yard and that we could coordinate the time to ensure Kitty’s safety. The place was also within walking distance of our company’s office and so we gladly signed the rental agreement.
The journey itself was the only thing left now. To calm Kitty during the flight, the vet recommended giving him a little calming tablet, once every twelve hours or so. Almost sitting on top of him and pressing the sides of his mouth to make him open it, I had to push the little pill down his throat, close his mouth and start massaging his neck to make him swallow the pill and not spit it out. That in itself was an adventure. We gave him the pill just before we left for the airport.
The first hurdle to clear was the security checkpoint. As I suspected, they wanted us to remove him from his cage, pass the cage through the scanner and carry him through the metal detector with us. I was haunted by visions of running through the airport, along with security and fellow travelers, trying to catch him after he slipped out of my hands. Fortunately, the combination of fear and drowsiness made him unwilling to leave my arms and actually hurry back into the cage.
The airline rules specified that Kitty’s cage had to contain all his essentials which included food, water and his toilet. Not wanting to put the toilet inside his cage, we used the advice provided on the Ramblin’ Cat website to fashion a portable toilet for him, using a sturdy shoebox. I didn’t want either of us to smell of cat pee for the reminder of the journey and also have a wet, smelly cat. I had read that cats can hold their bladder for about twelve to fourteen hours. That would require a midflight toilet stop if he didn’t use the toilet before we boarded the flight at San Francisco. I hoped a stall in the men’s room would provide sufficient privacy. But, he was too drowsy and scared of the hustle and bustle of the airport.
After flying Singapore Airlines the few times we had to traveled to India before, Lufthansa was a big letdown. Cramped seats, no personal TV, horrible food and a cold, even if efficient service staff. Putting the cage under my feet and sitting in the middle seat, I settled down for a long, tiring flight. A little opening at the top of the cage allowed me to squeeze a hand to stroke him, which I did every now and then and especially during take off and landing and during turbulence. Many times I stroked him to calm myself.
He refused food and only slipped a little water during the flight. I tried twice to make him use the toilet. I took him into one of the toilets, set up his potty and opened the cage, hoping the smell of his litter clay would be a clear suggestion to pee or poop. But he wouldn’t get out of the cage. I pulled his unwilling body out only to have him seek the most recessed corner of the toilet to hide. I began to see openings he could squeeze through and so hurried him back into the cage. The second time I tried doing this, I found an airhostess waiting for me outside. In a stern voice, she asked my purpose of being in the toilet. When I explained, she said that the toilets were for humans only and that as per the rules, Kitty had to stay in the cage throughout the flight. Her stern school teacher’s voice and her grim demeanor slipped back into my school boy mode and I nodded my head and proceeded to spend the reminder of the flight fantasizing how we wouldn’t be allowed to board the plane at Frankfurt because we all smelled of cat pee.
Frankfurt airport was crowded and noisy and the men’s toilet too cramped for Kitty to feel comfortable to even come out of the cage. The shoe box had begun to look a little frayed by now and I was concerned that it’d completely tear before we arrived in Bangalore. With great difficulty, I managed to push another calming pill down his throat at the airport.
We found the staff on the flight to Bangalore considerably more friendly, offering him milk, calling him cute and saying that they would be glad to make his flight as comfortable as possible. Kitty drank a little milk, but nothing else. My paranoid brain also worried about his getting too dehydrated, given his compromised kidneys. We landed in Bangalore with no pee.
At the airport, Shanthala wheeled him out to the customs. They seemed puzzled about what they ought to do. Shanthala offered the health certificate issued by USDA. One of them picked it up and studied it, looking thoroughly at sea. She snatched the paper back from him and marched out into the muggy, damp night. The rains had arrived early. A rather unpopular state government had been voted out of power. The taxi driver commented on how welcome the rains were, given the disastrous drought of the past two years, hinting that the unpopular chief minister had been personally responsible for the drought and with him gone, better times were assured.
The ride home was quick, given the late night. Shanthala ran up and set up his toilet. He came readily out of the cage and went straight into the toilet. Having used it, he came out meowing, ready for his food and water. After drinking and eating a bit, he set about exploring the new place. The rest of his time in Bangalore was adventurous, sometimes terrifying, but altogether enjoyable.
A year and a half later, Kitty completed the return leg of the journey. The experience was identical to the first leg except baggage clearance and customs took a lot longer and unable to control himself any more, Kitty peed in the cage on the drive home. Luckily, he had little to pee and the thick cloth that we had spread on the cage floor absorbed most of it, sparing him the misery of being wet as well. When we got home, I said “Kitty, come, let’s go. Food” and he went straight to the spot where he used to be fed, before he left for India, 18 months back. That was a clear indication to me that he remembered the place.
There were so many different ways that he could’ve died. In India – and there were a few opportunities, immediately after getting there or very soon after returning to the US, during one of our vacations when we left him behind. But, he died on a beautiful summer day, with Shanthala and I at his side. He spared me the guilt of thinking that our actions might’ve taken his life or his having died alone. Last time we were in India, Kitty was alive. When we arrived in India two weeks back, that was my first thought as the plane taxied down the tarmac of the new international airport. In India, where reincarnation is a common belief, where the mystic and the real sleep together, many see Kitty in some of Maya’s actions. For once, I don’t try to dissuade them of their beliefs.
