Upon returning home from a recent road trip with my boyfriend Gary, Topper snuck into the car while we were unloading and settled on the floorboard of the driver’s seat.
“Come on, Topper,” I motioned for him to get out. He just looked at me with a deadpan stare and folded his front legs under his chest. He was either content or being defiant—either way, I let him hang out in the car.
Twenty minutes later I went to collect the cat from the Kia in which he was now cozied-up on the floorboard of the back seat. It reminded me of the time I caught both cats red-pawed as they were scheming to take the car for a spin around the neighborhood, those stinkers.
When I walk Topper and Lexington around my neighborhood (yes, I walk my cats—that’s another story) they insist on stopping and sniffing a hubcap or the bumper of each car they encounter. It’s the roses that you are supposed to stop and smell I tell them.
So, since when do cats have a thing for cars? It’s probably a good thing they can’t reach my car keys and the gas pedal; surely they would figure out the whole driving thing. I would have to resort to public transportation while they would be off cruisin’ down Coast Highway. I can just see it now: Topper behind the wheel, Lexington with his head out the sunroof, whiskers blowing back in the wind and Bobcat with his paws on the dashboard, eagerly peering out the windshield and relentlessly asking, “Are we there yet?” I wonder where “there” would be. Main Beach would be a good start. Lexington would scream from the back seat: “Topper—stop the car! Look! Who knew we live 4.5 miles away from the biggest litter box ever?”
Curious to see just how big this outdoor litter box is they would keep driving south, getting glimpses of the sand at each stop light. “Wow, check out that giant whale! Maybe we should go there for lunch!” Topper would say as traffic would stop them in front of the Wyland Gallery. Not being able to find parking, they would keep on cruising until finding themselves approaching a restaurant that would make their fur stand on end. “Geez, it’s bad enough they roam the canyon, but now they have a restaurant?” Topper would say while flooring it past the Coyote Grill.
My cats aren’t the only felines with a fetish for cars. After a glass magnet-making workshop with artist Maggie Spencer, Gary and I sat outside of her Laguna Canyon studio along with Maggie and her friend Sian, sipped wine and chatted about the local music scene. Maggie’s cat with calico markings and an exceptionally fluffy tail strolled by and made herself comfortable on Sian’s leather purse. Conversation segued into talking about our cats. “Whenever I open my car door, Pumpkin jumps in the car!” Maggie said. I imagined Pumpkin getting all comfy on the seat, ready for a joyride…maybe to that giant litter box down the street.
I think Maggie should keep an eye on her car keys.