BRINGING SUNSHINE TO MAINE

In the words of Sunshine Marier…..

I was lapping up a perfectly lovely winter vacation in Vero Beach, taking naps on the cushioned couch on the lanai, eyeballing geckos that crept up the screen and watching squirrels romp around the palm trees in the sunny back yard. Lots of quiet time too because Dad played golf several times a week (he didn’t always return happy; something about his “#X@% putting”) and Mom had a slew of lunch dates with friends or went shopping. (She shopped a lot.)

Suddenly, one day it ended, and I ended up in a black hole. 

The morning we left, Mom kept blathering on about how “spacious and comfortable” my travel cage was. “Look, Sunshine, it’s even got a cozy mattress!” she said, tossing a handful of turkey-flavored Temptation treats on my “cozy mattress” to lure me in. 

Seriously? I wasn’t born yesterday. They finally had to shove and squeeze me in, laughing the whole time. I was sorely tempted to speed-dial the ASPCA to report animal abuse, but I don’t know Mom’s phone code.

Then off we went, them sitting up front on spacious comfortable seats with adjustable headrests while I was wedged in a zippered 18x12x12” torture chamber perched precariously on top of a suitcase that sat next to a bag of dirty laundry. Harumph!

I meowed to let them know I was quite unhappy with the arrangements. Before long, Dad leaned back, unzipped my oubliette and invited me to sit on his lap. That was no day in the park. Mom was driving 80 MPH past caravans of Winnebagos, Airstreams and humongous trucks. It looked like half the population of New England was heading north to home. And the Canadians! There must be no speed limit on Highway 401.

Mom told Dad she hoped we could reach Florence, South Carolina “on this first leg of the trip.” (FIRST LEG? How long is this going to take?)  They stopped at a Buc-ee’s for sandwiches and drinks, munched constantly on Doritos and Twix, and kept talking about how Spring-green the leaves were as we careened through Georgia. Like I cared.

That first night we stayed at a Hampton. I hope Trip Adviser doesn’t ask me for a review because it would get a thumbs-down. There were so few places to hide! 

Mom and Dad had immediately stuffed pillows between the headboard and bedside tables to prevent my sneaking under the king-size bed. I finally discovered an uncomfortable bathroom shelf and holed up in there while they sloshed down their adult beverages and then left me ALL ALONE when they went out to dinner. I kept hearing strange noises out in the hall. Suppose someone broke into our room? 

It was no better the second day. They kept switching Sirius radio channels from Fox to MSNBC to a bluegrass station that was positively God awful. Hurt my little ears. Dad loved it though. 

Mom said, “Let’s watch for the first forsythia in bloom,” but I had no idea what she was talking about. Dad kept pointing to the outside temperature gauge which had plummeted from a balmy 75 in Vero Beach to 38 in Wilmington. But their heat seaters were at full blast!  

Finally, days later it seemed, we crossed over the Piscataqua River bridge in New Hampshire and saw the sign “Welcome to Maine! The Way Life Should Be!”  Mom cheered and  Dad announced, “We’re home, Sunshine.”  When they opened the front door, I ran right down to my favorite hiding spot in the basement. I needed to regroup and recover. 

And I’ll tell you this: I’m not driving home from Florida ever again.