My humans are in the middle of moving to another state this week so I am currently staying at a hotel.
Apparently, there are two classes of hotels. There are regular hotels with their clean crisp sheets and fancy doors that lock, and then there are hotels that allow pets.
Yes, mine is the one with sketchy alley cats hanging out in the parking lot peddling catnip and questionable Frooskie’s treats out of the back of their carriers. I attempted to hide under the bed when strange noises began emanating from the other side of the wall but a mean butterfly had already claimed that spot.
My little brother Salem acted all tough at first, like he was some kind of badass feral and in his element, but the first time a cat with matted fur and missing teeth approached him asking for some tuna, he ran and hid in the bathroom. A bathroom, by the way, I could swear had the chalk outline of a terrier on its floor.
It’s scary as crap. Rumors are flying around that the only food available on the streets is dry and off-brand. Consequently, I’m doing everything I can not to get shut out of the room accidentally.
If you don’t hear from me again, there’s a good chance I’ve met my demise and some rabid little Shih Tzu is picking bits of me out of his teeth.