By Mitchell Slepian
About three weeks ago, I flew a Delta jet from JFK Airport to Milan. It was a fantastic trip. I loved it so much, I will be returning to Italy. This time, I will go to Sicily – The Boot of it. My flight took off as scheduled. I had my usual aisle seat and was reading on my Kindle. I have allergies. My eyes itched, and my nose was stuffed. I figured it was the normal thing for me.
A few hours into the flight, we heard an announcement that a cat had escaped from its pet carrier. At first, many of us didn’t understand the announcement. The audio was not as clear as it should have been. I asked a flight attendant, ‘Did they say cat?’ She said yes. I now knew why my flight was dreadful. For the record, I have been to Russia (2012). Did the Ukrainian girls knock me out, and did they leave the West behind? Not at all.
Everyone was looking under their seats for this creature that impacts your breathing, makes your eyes tear, and your throat itch. Finally, someone found it. The proud owners who were one row behind me held it up with the smile a boxer holds up when he wins the title belt.
I was so disgusted. I asked the captain why they allow cats on flights. I knew he could not answer. He nodded in approval and said, “That’s out of our control.” I knew that.
Years ago, I was invited to lunch at someone’s house. They invited many people over the years. Few went. Many people said you should go. The house is not the cleanest, and the food will not be great. But be nice.
I walked in. The woman spent about an hour cutting a cucumber. The husband was reading. I felt unwell from the moment I arrived. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furball jump off the couch.
I sat there for over an hour, ate the cucumber and some other food that was of poorer quality than what you’d find in a college dining hall or summer camp. We had a boring conversation. I reached a point where I could not see or breathe. Eventually, I thanked them and left. I could have run for a gold medal, running the two blocks back to my apartment. I got in, stripped down, and jumped into the longest shower I’ve ever taken. My clothes went into a garbage bag, and I delivered them to the dry cleaners.
Bottom line, I am not cool for cats.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 