When we moved from Indiana to California, it was highly debated whether to bring our 16 year old tabby cat for the flight or leave him to live out the rest of his days on a large property with friends. I contended that he should be with family as this cat had known me my whole life. Since we figured he’d probably go off looking for us, and wouldn’t last a week in his condition in the wild, we decided it best to bring him with us.
Concerning his condition, you’d think Kibbles had a parasite, because everything he ate seemed to convert to diarrhea, but he was just really, really old. Kibbles was skinny and stunk… bad. As one would imagine, a cross country flight, would be quite the undertaking. We took every precaution—not feeding him after noon the day before, lining his carrier with potty training pads for dogs—and hoped for the best.
The ticketing and layovers forced dad to fly non-stop and mom and I to catch a layover in St. Louis (to this day mom and I believe this was planned).
All seemed well until about 15 minutes before we landed in LA. Kibbles had to GO and NOTHING was stopping him. Fortunately his carrier looked like a duffel bag, so most of the other passengers had no idea where the smell was coming from. The putrid odor quickly permeated the whole cabin and engulfed everyone with the fury of Kibbles’ bowels.
Everyone (myself included) was trying to hold their breath and take short gulps of air. After what seemed like ages we pulled up to the gate; it was probably the fastest I’ve ever seen a plane unload. Kibbles passed away about 6 months later but maybe we should’ve left him in Indiana.
