#MajorsCorner Puerto Vallarta, cats and planes

Once again my darling wife Kitty and I have made the yearly trip to our Mexican winter paradise of Puerto Vallarta. We dream about this moment all year and are never disappointed. The warm brown arms of Mexico envelop us into our tropical Valhalla.
Of course in every garden of Eden there must dwell a serpent, or in our case, serpents. My wife cannot bring herself to abandon her frightful cats Pericles and Bertram, and so there they sat between her legs on the floor in the latest “Bitty-Kitty” cat carrier. When we took off after the usual WestJet blather (“Let’s all wave to Sarah in the back of the plane,” etc.) there were a few screams and burps from the noisome twosome but after that and some terrible odours that did not go unnoticed by our fellow passengers, they appeared to settle down.
That is until we hit a rough patch over Utah, I think, when the Bitty-Kitty satchel rose into the air as the plane suddenly dropped. Pericles took tremendous exception to that and clawed Bertram’s nose in fear. Then apparently Bertram retaliated by saying something in cat talk along the lines of Pericles putting on a few extra pounds lately, and the fight was on.
Now I am not sure if you have been near a cat fight in a Bitty-Kitty cat carrier, but it is not something one can ignore. Until that moment, the trapped audience had focused their dislike upon a blotchy child who kept removing the wig of the poor man in front of him and kicking backs of seats indiscriminately.
But now the focus became the whirlwind on the floor beneath our seats, which seemed to be reaching a climax of some sort.
Suddenly nothing – all quiet. Then the most ghastly smell rose from the exhausted bag. It was as if a tar pit of huge proportions had just belched up a 10-millennia-old carcass that now lay on the floor of the airplane packed with formerly happy travellers.
The man across from us with a handkerchief over his nose shouted, “Now look here” before sinking to his knees and closing his eyes, our first victim. The awful child cried, “Pooh-tinky…Very bad!” and then went to sleep.
For a moment or two I thought the pilot was going to make an emergency landing because his ship required a serious fumigation. However the atmosphere began to clear gradually and outside of many harsh looks and a few “I says,” the trip returned to normal and the cats resumed their nap.
One of the things one notices on these flights is that many Canadians are going for repairs in the tropics. There were several conversations going on around us on this very subject, and no sparing of the details either.
It is a shame that, unlike television, no person in authority at WestJet warns you of possible “disturbing images” during the flight. A woman across from us pulled down her elastic trousers to show us her two year old operation scar delivered by someone called Dr. “One-Hour” Garcia. The delighted patient claimed the doctor could operate on anyone with anything all in one hour and have him back in the bar for the inevitable “happy hour,” perhaps a little groggy, she allowed, but there nonetheless. She was now looking forward to yet another op from old Speedy Garcia.
It just got worse after that when the lame and loose-bowled patients recognized a sympathetic couple such as Kitty and me. There was no stopping them.
A chap wandered over to our aisle to show us his new bridgework. He simply pulled it out of his mouth and said,“Zzxtrkkkl wethju oiurfv gbhxxce?” which I think meant something along the lines of “It’s a great work of art.” He had just eaten a ham sandwich by the way. Horrible.
Kitty started to shout at them, which woke Bertram, who then let go a long tug boat sound that again filled the cabin with an indescribable effluvium. This at least had the effect of dispersing the crowd, except for a man wanting to show us some sort of bag that ran down his leg. It was transparent and disgusting.
We landed soon after and because of the pungency emanating from the Bitty-Kitty carrier bag, we were expressed through immigration and customs as if on a moving sidewalk. The gagging crowd rapidly parted as I dragged the effervescent and sulphurous cat bag towards the glass doors. The taxi drivers drew lots to see who would drive us and then take their car off the road. The cats were tired of the bag and began to complain. I wanted to drop them off a bridge, thus solving several problems, but Kitty was adamant that we take them to the condo. I was only kidding of course….still.
We are here and happily tucked up. But not before I flung one of my well-known censorious looks at the appalling cats. And I meant it too.
Copyright Christopher Dalton 2015