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Ten years ago.
Oct. 26th, 2011 09:04 am"Good GOD I hope they're not on my plane."
Nobody said that aloud, but we read it in their eyes as they waited with us at the Charles de Gaulle airport security in Paris. Mostly because if we had been them, we would have thought that exact same thing. Dude, who wants to be on a plane with a family consisting of two adults, one toddler, one baby in a car seat and one truly pissed-off (though heavily drugged) feline in a pet carrier?
Ten years ago today, while Toronto was still sleeping the sleep of the good, we undertook the complicated task of going through security at the airport. I remember this vividly because we had to remove the non-walking members of our party from their respective carriers so that said carriers could get thoroughly verified, while still making sure that the constantly running OMG member of our family (Froglet) was still firmly under control.
I went through the gate with Tadpole under one arm and Lafayette ze cat under the other. Tadpole was looking around her with the utmost interest (she has always found the world fascinating), and Lafayette ze (drugged) cat was unsuccessfully trying to focus her gaze on something, anything. (Lafayette, may she rest in peace, was a remarkably even-tempered cat in that she only had ONE temper, and that was CRANKY -- except with me, because I Belonged To Her. I would not have attempted to take her to another continent without drugging her first.)
While Toronto got up and had breakfast and went to work and had lunch and went back to work again, we crossed the Atlantic ocean. Lafayette was getting increasingly pissed off (and then pissed on, alas) as she didn't have a litter box to properly relieve herself; Froglet played with whatever toys she had brought to play with on the plane; Tadpole watched everything and fought sleep valliantly, and then conked out anyways.
Once we had landed in Toronto we had to get Husband's work visa sorted out, and that took a while. They asked us to take Lafayette out of the pet carrier.
Are you kidding me?, I asked.
They absolutely weren't. So I opened the pet carrier and grabbed Lafayette, who was furious and wet and mortified (a cat has got to pee at some point, right?), and showed her to them. OK THAT IS A CAT PUT IT BACK INSIDE OMG, was their horrified reply. You didn't mess with Fayette when she didn't want to be messed with, is the thing.
They did, however, confiscate the very expensive cat food we'd taken with us, because clearly we had nothing better to do that evening than go out and shop for cat food. Then of course it turned out that we had to go shop for groceries anyways: the appartment Husband's company had rented for our first few days was pretty and furnished, and the company had left us a gourmet basket, and we really appreciated the pesto and balsamic vinegar -- but you can't really do much with pesto and balsamic vinegar when you have no pasta or bread or ANYTHING to eat it WITH.
So Husband went out and shopped while I bathed and changed the girls, and then we all ate, and we put the girls to bed, and then Husband and I gave Fayette a bath, which.... yeah.
While Toronto was quietly settling down for the night, Husband and I sat exhaustedly in front of the TV and exchanged a tired but triumphant smile.
We'd made it. We had arrived in Canada, the country of our choice. How lucky we were, to be able to choose the place we wanted to call home!
The day was October 26th, 2001. Ten years ago today.
We should be celebrating tonight but of course, as luck would have it, HUSBAND IS IN FRANCE THIS WEEK *headdesks* so I suppose we'll do it later, possibly while eating the Ladurée macarons Husband better bring back from Paris when he comes back home on Monday :D .
Nobody said that aloud, but we read it in their eyes as they waited with us at the Charles de Gaulle airport security in Paris. Mostly because if we had been them, we would have thought that exact same thing. Dude, who wants to be on a plane with a family consisting of two adults, one toddler, one baby in a car seat and one truly pissed-off (though heavily drugged) feline in a pet carrier?
Ten years ago today, while Toronto was still sleeping the sleep of the good, we undertook the complicated task of going through security at the airport. I remember this vividly because we had to remove the non-walking members of our party from their respective carriers so that said carriers could get thoroughly verified, while still making sure that the constantly running OMG member of our family (Froglet) was still firmly under control.
I went through the gate with Tadpole under one arm and Lafayette ze cat under the other. Tadpole was looking around her with the utmost interest (she has always found the world fascinating), and Lafayette ze (drugged) cat was unsuccessfully trying to focus her gaze on something, anything. (Lafayette, may she rest in peace, was a remarkably even-tempered cat in that she only had ONE temper, and that was CRANKY -- except with me, because I Belonged To Her. I would not have attempted to take her to another continent without drugging her first.)
While Toronto got up and had breakfast and went to work and had lunch and went back to work again, we crossed the Atlantic ocean. Lafayette was getting increasingly pissed off (and then pissed on, alas) as she didn't have a litter box to properly relieve herself; Froglet played with whatever toys she had brought to play with on the plane; Tadpole watched everything and fought sleep valliantly, and then conked out anyways.
Once we had landed in Toronto we had to get Husband's work visa sorted out, and that took a while. They asked us to take Lafayette out of the pet carrier.
Are you kidding me?, I asked.
They absolutely weren't. So I opened the pet carrier and grabbed Lafayette, who was furious and wet and mortified (a cat has got to pee at some point, right?), and showed her to them. OK THAT IS A CAT PUT IT BACK INSIDE OMG, was their horrified reply. You didn't mess with Fayette when she didn't want to be messed with, is the thing.
They did, however, confiscate the very expensive cat food we'd taken with us, because clearly we had nothing better to do that evening than go out and shop for cat food. Then of course it turned out that we had to go shop for groceries anyways: the appartment Husband's company had rented for our first few days was pretty and furnished, and the company had left us a gourmet basket, and we really appreciated the pesto and balsamic vinegar -- but you can't really do much with pesto and balsamic vinegar when you have no pasta or bread or ANYTHING to eat it WITH.
So Husband went out and shopped while I bathed and changed the girls, and then we all ate, and we put the girls to bed, and then Husband and I gave Fayette a bath, which.... yeah.
While Toronto was quietly settling down for the night, Husband and I sat exhaustedly in front of the TV and exchanged a tired but triumphant smile.
We'd made it. We had arrived in Canada, the country of our choice. How lucky we were, to be able to choose the place we wanted to call home!
The day was October 26th, 2001. Ten years ago today.
We should be celebrating tonight but of course, as luck would have it, HUSBAND IS IN FRANCE THIS WEEK *headdesks* so I suppose we'll do it later, possibly while eating the Ladurée macarons Husband better bring back from Paris when he comes back home on Monday :D .
