So my human has asked me to write a guest blog, about what she calls the “Magic Ubiquitous Cat Carrier.” When she was young, she tells me, she once read a book by Enid Blyton called “The Magic Faraway Tree,” about a bunch of kids who found a tree in the middle of the woods. All of these bizarre characters lived in the tree, and at its top were all of these different worlds that would visit and stay for a while, and then move on.

My human thinks that the Magic Ubiquitous Cat Carrier is similar to this tree. Every time that we arrive in a new place, she opens the carrier and I step out into another world (usually with only one bizarre character – her). Since leaving Wyoming a month ago, we’ve visited at least 10 worlds in four different states, including multiple houses, several campsites and a treehouse. While I’m very much aware that this carrier isn’t magic, and that she’s transporting me very un-magically in her car to new places (I’m doubtful that she even understands what magic is), I’ve decided to humor her – mostly in the hope that she’ll give me extra treats or a least increase the size of my rather measly meals.

The so-called Magic Ubiquitous Cat Carrier is really just a bright red duffel bag with a piece of fuzzy fabric on the bottom. It’s mostly a pleasant place to recline, unless the fabric gets bunched up in one corner, and I don’t mind hanging out in there for five or six hours as my human “magically” transports us to our next location. Any longer than that, and I make my displeasure known. My human generally responds with vague assurances like “Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” or even more annoyingly, “What are you saying, María?” We’ve been together nine years; she should really understand me by now.

World 1: Logan Canyon

The first world that we encountered after leaving Wyoming was Utah’s Logan Canyon, surrounded by the Bear River mountains. The trip wasn’t too bad – only a half day, with none of those bumpy dirt roads that I so despise – but I was disappointed, upon exiting the carrier, to find that we were camping in a parking lot. We’d reached a whole new level of vagrancy. My human tried to explain that all of the other areas were snow-covered, that we had the place to ourselves, and that there were open bathrooms and beautiful views, but I was not impressed. I am not a street cat.

World 2: Boise National Forest

Our second world was a great improvement. Originally my human had been planning to stop near Malta, Idaho, but when she realized that thundershowers were expected all evening, she wisely chose to keep going. We drove up a winding road from the interstate, toward Idaho City, and turned into the first marked campsite in Boise National Forest. The site was empty, and filled with beautiful pine trees and interesting animal smells. I explored the whole area before expressing my approval, and making it clear that I didn’t want any repeat of the parking lot fiasco. She agreed to do her best to accommodate.

World 3: Roosevelt Park

It was mid-afternoon when we pulled into Roosevelt Park in Washington – a picnic-style park on the Colombia River, near a rather desultory town. At first we had the place to ourselves, and I enjoyed rolling around in the sun and smelling all of the unusual odors blowing in off the water. We were just chilling out, enjoying the scenery, when some guy showed up on a motorcycle. Great. We watched him suspiciously as he wandered around the grass, and then, over to us. Luckily, he turned out to be harmless – a substitute teacher on spring break who was riding around on his motorcycle, camping and visiting museums. He stayed on the other side of the park, and in the morning, my human went with him to visit a concrete replica of Stonehenge, and then the Maryhill Museum. She left me in the car, which is very much against the rules, but as it was a cool day I was actually quite happy napping in the back seat. When we got back on the road she tried to tell me about Sam Hill, who was apparently responsible for building many of the roads in Oregon, and his giant concrete mansion-turned-museum – but I soon fell asleep. Humans really like to drone on sometimes. 

Worlds 4-6: The City

We spent two weeks in Portland and Oakland, where my human mostly ran off with her friends, leaving me to fend for myself in a large Portland house and two separate Oakland apartments. These were quite pleasant, though I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the small humans I encountered quite regularly. I generally love two-legged creatures, but the young ones are highly unpredictable, and despite my best efforts, I’m doubtful of their desire or ability to provide me with food. Then again, if my own human can’t even understand me after nine years, I have very little hope for the small ones.

In Oakland, I soon realized that I was staying just above where my human and I used to live. I repeatedly asked to go outside, but was denied – something to do with “fleas” and the lack of a “cat door.” These things were never an issue before, so I’m not sure why they are now. Then again, it’s been a while since my human gave me one of those nasty-tasting meals full of flea medication, so maybe that has something to do with it. I could also smell Ninja on the streets outside, and while part of me wanted to see him, I was also fine with not seeing him at all. I have mixed feelings about that rather abusive relationship. My human did visit him at the Kaiser garden – the one he’s greedily claimed for himself, in addition to his new home – and reported that he’s a little chubby, but doing fine. She was sad to see him go, but I was highly relieved that she didn’t try to bring him with us.

World 6: Napa Valley

Napa Valley was a bit of a disaster. My human was enamored with the place – we followed her friends for an hour and a half past what she said were beautiful vineyards and magical, lush green hills. But I couldn’t see any of that, thanks to the red carrier prison, and was instead relegated to bouncing up and down over the rough mountain roads. I’m pretty I yelped a couple of times when she banged the bottom of her car, forged the small creeks, or spun her tires in the loose soil – but somehow, surprisingly, we made it.

Once we arrived, there were immediately two of those small humans, clamoring to see me (“Where’s the kitty? Can we see the kitty?”) Ugh. My human trundled me up a long dirt path and finally opened the carrier, only for me to emerge into – a treehouse. Now I’ve adapted pretty well to traveling. I stay in all kinds of houses and apartments, even campsites, with very little complaint. But a treehouse? That’s just too much to ask. I only climb trees when I want to – of my own volition.

I promptly retired underneath the bed, and stayed there until later that evening, when one of the small humans sought me out. He insisted on patting me repeatedly and exclaiming, “She’s so cute!” I put it up with it for about five minutes before swiping at his finger – drawing one tiny drop of blood, which he seemed to find rather fascinating. Still, he stopped petting me, so I guess it did the job.

World 7: Bear River Campground

The following day my human took me to a park where she ate lunch with her friends, and we visited the nearby Nature Museum. I’m not sure what she was thinking, as it was filled with predators – mountain lions, coyotes, hawks and eagles. Was she trying to give me a heart attack? She told me that the animals were taxidermied and couldn’t harm me, and besides, I was in my carrier, but as I’m already aware that the carrier is not magical (it’s not even ubiquitous – did you see it in any of the photos aside from the first? I didn’t think so), her words were hardly reassuring. I was relieved when we left for Lake Tahoe, with plenty of time to spare.

The Bear River campsite was pretty – right on the river – but there were lots of other humans and dogs nearby, and every time I tried to explore my human collected me and brought me back to our campsite. Which was annoying. The woman next to us said that another woman had recently been “86’ed” for failing to pay (it was the only pay campsite we’ve stayed at, costing $11 a night). She invited us to go check out a bag of clothing the 86’ed woman had left behind, but my human explained that we were preparing to leave. The stranger then offered us some change to help pay for another night. The people who have the least, it seems, are often the most generous – but it was time for us to move on.

World 8: Antelope Reservoir

The last world we visited before reaching Idaho was Antelope Reservoir in southern Oregon. The campsite was just off the freeway, but appeared remote and beautifully serene, with water lapping at the shore, birds screeching above and gophers scuttling across the ground. I stalked some of the gophers, but lost interest when I realized that they weren’t afraid of me at all – they would simply stand on their hind legs and stare at me, sniffing at the air. It made me miss the old days, back in Oakland, when the mice would flee from me in terror. Perhaps I’m just getting old.

World 9: Idaho

Since we’ve arrived in Boise, things have been falling into place. My human and our hosts seem to have learned to cater to my every demand (aside, sadly, from those for more food). My human tells me that we are leaving soon, for another farm in central Idaho, but I’m quite confident now that despite the treehouses, parking lots and other bumps along the road, things will go as they are meant to go. There is a magic involved – it’s true – but it’s not the kind of magic that can be controlled by any human, or found in any cat carrier. It’s more like a breeze that blows, urging mice to their holes and gophers to their burrows; a flailing branch, swept up by the river; a claw that scratches, drawing blood to warn you when you’ve gone the wrong way, yet again.