24 May 2011

Hitch a ride

Milton hates suitcases.

Not a surprise, really. Suitcases mean someone is going somewhere, and that his little world is about the become disordered. And perhaps, whoever is left will forget to feed him.

(Or worse, he'll be sent off to the vet for the duration.)

He visibly tenses up when he hears the tell tale sound of zippers or sees the things rolling down the hallway. He paces. He runs around. He crouches and looks miserable.

A month or so ago, I decided to bite the bullet and buy a new set of suitcases as the old set has been around the world (no joke), and it shows. Baggage handlers are none too gentle and the metal supports inside the bags are visibly cattywampus, and the outsides are filthy and fraying.

Besides, everyone has red suitcases these days.

Macys was having a sale, and I had an extra discount, and at the end of the day, I got new Samsonite luggage for a reasonably decent price. Of course, I couldn't find what I wanted in the store, so it had to be shipped to the house.

The cartons arrived while the daughter and I were in New York, and Milton made them his, not knowing, of course, that they contained suitcases. Milton loves boxes. He likes sitting atop them, standing upon them, jumping on them, and generally behaving like the King of the (Cardboard) Mountain. So, he loved and enjoyed the cartons until I got back and decided they required unpacking.

Imagine his dismay to hear...suitcases.

Well, the suitcases have been sitting in the dining room for the last several days because it turns out they are larger than the old suitcases and I can't lift them into the storage area above the closet anyway, so they sit, pretty and blue and rolly. And do they roll. They are spinners, so they move about with very little provocation.

Milton has largely ignored them except to note that they are in his way.

Last night in the course of some errand, the spouse moved the larger suitcases near Milton's scratching post. Neither of us really thought anything of it, but today, when I was doing all my horrible rehabilitation exercises, I noticed Milton sniffing around the wheels. He went on to have a long and luxurious scratch on his post, and then he jumped up on top of the large Chinese vase that sits behind his post. He stood there for a moment while I watched, sniffing the nearest suitcase with great care, and I could see what he was thinking and I assumed it would end in disaster.

He stood there quietly for a moment, and then he leaped gracefully to the top of the suitcase. His weight and momentum were sufficient to set it in motion, and he perched there happily, rolling gracefully across the dining room floor, King of the Mountain, Head of the Parade.

Go listen to some music: "Hitch a Ride" from the album Boston by Boston.

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