In October of 2017, my mother and I packed up everything we owned and left Pennsylvania for North Carolina.

Why?

Because things had gotten too expensive in Pennsylvania.

And my mother wanted to retire.

North Carolina, she insisted, was the perfect place.

I was...

Less enthusiastic.

Now, here's where our brilliant plan began.

We sold the house.

Packed everything we owned into a moving truck.

And had the movers put it all into storage.

The idea was simple.

Drive to North Carolina.

Find a place to rent.

Then have the moving company bring our stuff down.

We'd actually spent weeks trying to find a place before we left.

Every rental looked promising...

Until they found out we were calling from Pennsylvania.

Apparently, landlords aren't always thrilled about renting to people several states away.

So we gave up trying to find a place from home.

Instead, we decided we'd drive to North Carolina...

Stay in a hotel for a few days...

Find a place in person...

And then have the movers bring our stuff down.

What could possibly go wrong?

Loading the moving truck took a lot longer than anyone expected.

By the time we finally hit the road...

It was already late afternoon.

Our carefully planned schedule was already off to an impressive start.

In hindsight...

That should have been our warning.

Our traveling party consisted of me...

My mother...

My brother...

Leo, who traveled in one of those pop-up pet tents with his own litter box...

And Miss Kitty, who rode in a regular cat carrier.

And all of us were packed into a 2002 Suzuki Grand Vitara we'd just bought for cash from a dealership.

If you've never seen a Grand Vitara...

Imagine trying to fit your entire life into a vehicle that wasn't much bigger than an oversized golf cart.

There wasn't much room left.

For luggage.

For legs.

Or for oxygen.

Everything was going according to plan.

Which, when my mother is involved, is usually right before the story gets interesting.

Driving from Pennsylvania to Baltimore takes you through a little place called Breezewood.

If you've never been there, imagine a town built entirely for people who are just passing through.

Gas stations.

Restaurants.

Hotels.

Pretty much anything a road-tripper could need.

Naturally...

That was our first stop.

Before I go any further, there's something you should know about Leo.

He'd had stomach issues his whole life.

Bathroom breaks were less of an event...

And more of a hazmat situation.

We ended up stopping at a Sheetz.

You can buy just about anything at Sheetz.

Food.

Gas.

Milk.

Phone chargers.

A six-foot inflatable flamingo at two in the morning.

But apparently...

A litter box scoop was too much to ask.

So picture this.

Me.

Standing in the parking lot of a Sheetz.

Scooping a litter box...

With a plastic spoon.

Of course, my mother did what any loving parent would do.

She quietly snuck up behind me...

And took a picture.

You know.

For the family album.

Somewhere, that picture still exists.

So after all of that...

We grabbed some snacks.

Made sure the kitties had a chance to stretch their legs.

Got everyone settled back into the car.

And hit the road again.

It was already dark by the time we left Sheetz.

We headed east on I-70 toward Hagerstown and Baltimore.

The cats were quiet.

We were finally making good time.

For the first time all day...

It felt like we could relax.

After a while, a tractor-trailer came up behind us and started flashing his headlights.

We didn't think much of it.

We figured he was warning oncoming traffic about a speed trap.

Eventually, he passed us.

Then another truck came up behind us.

Flashing his lights.

Then another.

And another.

After the fourth or fifth truck flashed their headlights...

We finally admitted something wasn't right.

We had no idea what.

But enough people were trying to get our attention that we decided it was probably a good idea to pull over before we discovered the answer the hard way.

So we took the next exit.

It didn't take long to figure it out.

My mom had been complaining that she couldn't see the dashboard lights.

She'd been fiddling with the light switch until the gauges lit up the way she wanted.

Neither of us realized she'd also turned off the taillights.

The Grand Vitara's headlights stayed on all the time.

The taillights, however...

Those only came on if you turned them on manually.

So there we were...

Driving down a dark stretch of I-70.

Headlights on.

Taillights off.

Bopping along to the music.

Completely unaware that every truck driver behind us was trying to save our lives.

With our taillights finally working again, we climbed back into the Grand Vitara and headed toward Baltimore.

We were convinced the excitement for the night was over.

We were very, very wrong.

Earlier that day, I'd made reservations at the Hampton Inn & Suites Baltimore.

Two rooms.

One with a king bed.

One with two double beds.

For two nights.

We'd be getting in late, but that wasn't a problem.

I had reservations.

Or so I thought.

We finally pulled into the hotel.

Walked up to the front desk.

Gave the woman my name.

She looked up the reservation.

Then informed me, in a tone that suggested this was somehow my fault...

One room was reserved for one night.

The other room was reserved for two.

I explained that wasn't what I'd booked.

She didn't seem particularly interested.

According to her, if the reservation was wrong...

That was my problem.

I'd have to take it up with Booking.com.

Fine.

I stepped outside and called Booking.com.

After what felt like an eternity of explaining the situation...

Being put on hold...

Explaining it all over again...

The representative finally figured out what had happened.

She apologized.

Assured me she'd fixed everything.

And told me I was all set.

Relieved, I thanked her and walked back inside.

I was not, in fact...

All set.

Instead of correcting the reservation...

They'd created an entirely new one.

So now, instead of two rooms for two nights...

We had two rooms for two nights.

Another room for two nights.

And one more room for one night.

I walked back to the front desk.

Surely someone there could help us.

Nope.

As far as the hotel was concerned...

It was Booking.com's problem.

They hadn't made the reservation.

They couldn't change it.

They couldn't cancel it.

They couldn't refund it.

I'd have to take it up with  Booking dot com.

At this point...

We weren't arguing over one night anymore.

We were looking at nearly $1,500 in hotel charges.

For rooms we never wanted.

My mom's credit card was now staring down nearly $1,500 in pending charges.

The hotel couldn't help us.

 Booking dot com  thought they already had.

And somehow...

I'd managed to turn two hotel rooms...

Into four.

Eventually...

I'd reached my limit.

I told the desk clerk I wasn't moving.

No one was checking in...

Until someone figured out how I'd accidentally reserved half the hotel.

It's amazing how quickly a manager appears when the front desk stops moving.

After what felt like six more phone calls...

And another round of explaining the situation...

The manager finally got involved.

The hotel and Booking dot com talked to each other.

Everyone compared notes.

Eventually, we were told the extra reservations had been canceled.

The extra charges weren't actually charges.

They were authorization holds.

They'd disappear in a few days.

From the hotel's side...

Everything was finally correct.

Two rooms.

Two nights.

Exactly what I'd booked in the first place.

We thanked everyone.

Finally...

With our room keys in hand...

We loaded everything onto one of those hotel luggage carts.

Every suitcase.

Every bag.

Leo, in his pop-up poop tent.

Miss Kitty, glaring at the world from her carrier.

If it belonged to us...

It was on that cart.

Now, we'd put both cats in my mom's room.

She'd booked the larger suite.

My brother and I, on the other hand...

Were staying in what I can only describe as a walk-in closet...

With two beds.

It was cozy.

And by "cozy"...

I mean if one of us rolled over, the other probably got elbowed.

Meanwhile...

The cats had the bigger room.

We were staying in what appeared to be an oversized linen closet.

For the first time since we'd left Pennsylvania...

Nothing went wrong.

We got everything unpacked.

Everyone settled in.

And we actually managed to get a good night's sleep.

The next morning...

My phone rang.

It was my mother.

"Michael..."

"I can't find Miss Kitty."

I sat straight up.

"What do you mean you can't find Miss Kitty?"

"She's gone."

Now...

There are only so many places a cat can hide in a hotel room.

Especially one she'd never been in before.

So I wasn't too worried.

At first.

Then we started looking.

We searched everywhere.

And I mean everywhere.

Under the bed?

Nope.

The bed sat on a platform.

There wasn't an "under the bed."

Behind the dresser.

Inside the closet.

Behind the curtains.

Under the sink.

Inside the bathroom.

Every corner.

Every inch.

Nothing.

Miss Kitty had simply...

Vanished.

At least...

That's what we thought.

What we didn't realize was that we hadn't actually checked under the sink very well.

The sink sat on a strange built-out platform.

Hidden behind it...

Was a tiny opening.

You couldn't see it standing there.

You couldn't even see it by kneeling down.

The only way to spot it...

Was to get down on the floor...

And crawl underneath the sink.

Somehow...

Miss Kitty had managed to squeeze herself into a tiny sliver of an opening that looked far too small for a cat.

All we could see...

Were two terrified eyes...

Staring back at us.

The problem?

The opening was so small...

We couldn't even fit a hand inside to grab her.

So...

We tried everything.

Her favorite treats.

Cat food.

Toys.

Calling her name.

Sweet talking.

Begging.

Bribery.

Interpretive dance.

Japanese avant-garde pipe music.

Nothing.

That cat wasn't coming out.

At this point...

I was beginning to wonder if she'd simply accepted that tiny hole as her new permanent address.

After about two hours...

We were about ready to give up.

I was hungry.

I needed coffee.

I needed a cigarette.

And I was sweating my fat ass off.

I remember thinking...

"If this cat has decided she's living under the hotel sink now...

She can have the room."

We decided there wasn't much else we could do.

So we left some food out for her...

Closed the door...

And went to get breakfast.

Honestly...

It wasn't a bad plan.

Give her some peace and quiet.

Let her calm down.

Maybe she'd come out once the giant humans stopped staring at her.

At the very least...

We'd get coffee.

And after two hours on the bathroom floor...

We needed it.

The trip turned out to be exactly what we needed.

Good coffee.

Good food.

A chance to stop crawling around a hotel bathroom looking for a cat that had apparently mastered dimensional travel.

We came back to the hotel...

Opened the door...

And there was Miss Kitty.

Curled up on the bed.

Sound asleep.

Not a care in the world.

Like she hadn't just spent the last two hours convincing us she'd disappeared forever.

She stretched.

Looked at us.

Yawned.

Then curled back up and went right back to sleep.

She'd probably crawled into that little hole sometime during the night while she was exploring.

And once she'd decided that was where she wanted to be...

That was where she was going to stay.

Because if you've ever owned a cat...

You already know.

Cats don't give a damn what you want.

Meanwhile...

The three of us had probably aged five years.

...to be continued