What Fidg Did On His Winter Vacation, Part One

Fidget and I are returning home today, after spending a lovely 4 days along the Blue Ridge Mountain line in South Carolina.  Fidget is a wonderful travel buddy—he loves the car, is game to tag along on many adventures and takes care of any “bed bugs” in the sheets.  We went up to spend a few days with family, which gave me a chance to reconnect and gave Fidget the biggest adventure of his life (to date).  Our journey began with an 8-hour car ride.  Fidget told me *exactly* what he thought of spending 8 hours cooped up in the car:

This incessant wailing only lasted for about 20 minutes, after which he settled in to his official “co-pilot” seat (the center console).  Fatty’s preferred traveling space is on my lap, which wedges him firmly between my stomach and the steering wheel.  Since being able to turn the steering wheel with relative ease is sort of a must, Fidg was banned from his favorite spot, and resolved to be as close as possible instead.  He slept for probably a good 6 hours, dead to the world, with his butt in the passenger’s seat, his head on the center console.

After only a few stops for gas and/or a stretch break, we wound our way through Greenville, SC, finally to be spit out into the middle of the postcard-worthy back country.  My only regret is that we weren’t able to make our visit in the early summer (which means we may have to go back in a few months).  As beautiful as the scenery was in February, I can’t imagine what it must look like when everything is a vibrant and blooming.  The last time I had experienced South Carolina was probably close to 15 years ago, and it was even better than how I remembered it.

My great Aunt Amanda (yes, she really is great) has a wonderful house up in the woods, with an accompanying cabin, and a river house which is just a few miles away.  She and my great Uncle Dennis are tree farmers, and happen to be the best in the entire state of South Carolina (no, really--I’m not biased, they have a plaque to prove it!).  My furry companion and I stayed in the cabin, which is easily 100 years old.  It may be a little drafty, but I’m not sure that anything can beat being on the little screened-in porch and having Fidget catch sight of 3 wild deer, not 20 feet from the front door.  It is quaint, and quiet, and perfectly secluded from the outside world.  It was just me, the cat, the elements and whatever critters happened to be scurrying around on the other side of my bedroom wall.

Fidget spent most of the first full day exploring the little cabin and rubbing himself on every door frame, couch, chair leg, cabinet or bed post that he could find.  I’m sure that he made it very clear to all other cats that it was now HIS DAMN CABIN.  He also spent considerable time perched atop the microwave, looking out into the the woods in awe.  Since FattyPants seemed perfectly comfortable and entertained, I drove up the hill to spend the day with Aunt Amanda, sans cat.

Amanda and I had breakfast in Pumpkintown, SC.  I’ll say it again:  Pumpkintown, SC.  Affectionately referred to as “Punkintown” by the locals, Amanda informed me that we were going to a place that had wonderful, good ol’ fashioned biscuits and gravy.  En route, she assured me, “It won’t be like what you’re probably expecting it to be.”  In reality, it was precisely what I had expected.  Inside, we took a seat at the little diner-style bar, and gave our order to what seemed like the only waiter for the entire joint.  The gentleman asked if I would like coffee or tea, and I told him that I would like tea.  Amanda quickly leaned over to me and clarified:  “You’re in South Carolina, tea means sweet tea.  Did you want hot tea?”  Not a lot of people know, but I’m probably the only Georgia-born girl that doesn’t like sweet tea.  Ah, well—my sweet tea came, and I dealt with it.  It wasn’t really that bad.  We ordered our biscuits and gravy, and aside from watching a woman in the floral shirt slave over a hot griddle, I began to notice the assorted knick-knacks that were nailed to the wall:  a decorative hand saw, a sign that reads,”Our coffee’s so good we drink it ourselves…on occasion,” and even a taxidermied bear head that was pitifully subjected to wearing a cowboy hat and had a hotdog bun stuck in its mouth.  As our food came, I also noticed that the Griddle Slave was squirting butter out of a ketchup bottle onto someone’s hot n’ ready grits.  Dang, I should have ordered that.

We finished breakfast, and said farewell to Oreo, Pumpkintown General Store’s mascot cat.  Amanda and I then went on a tour of Pickens County, including a tour of the river house and a drive up to Caesar’s Head State Park, to get a real feel for the topography of South Carolina.

Immediately following our scenic tour, we returned home to check on the Fat-Master.  Fidgy-Head had clearly had a ball in the cabin while we had been gone.  I walked in the door and was greeting by a fat, stripey cat writhing on the floor in bliss.  I picked up the purring beast and told him it was time for bed.  I snuggled into my wonderfully cozy bed, and Fidget promptly leapt out of my arms and scurried over to the window to watch for any other signs of movement in the woods.  I decided my cat doesn’t have to have a bedtime, and went to sleep, preparing myself for the next day of adventure.

To be continued...

Breakfast at Fidgany's

Yesterday I decided that I deserved to have a relaxing and delicious breakfast before I went to work.  It was 65 degrees F and sunny, and I thought to myself, "Self, I think it would be a lovely morning for a breakfast croissant."  However, my plan to simply walk out the door is never quite as simple as I should hope.  I noticed Fidget eyeballing me as I put on my shoes and picked up my purse.  We had a sort of stare-down in the hallway...an awkward silence.  He non-verbally challenged me, unwavering, almost as if to say, "I'm going with you...RIGHT?!"  After a very long two minute pause, I finally caved and invited him to accompany me to breakfast.  After all, I prefer not to eat alone.

We wound our way through the quaint, although painfully pretentious shopping center that is adjacent to our apartment.  Passing by the outdoor seating of restaurants and ridiculously overpriced retail stores, we received looks and gawks from the stoic, corporate gentlemen bickering over the check, as well as the flocks of spoiled trophy wives, who I'm certain are at least 40% plastic.  I parked Fidget in his stroller at the most pefect outside table (half in the sun for me, half in the shade for Fatty) and went inside to order our...uhm...my breakfast.  I returned with a cup of hot Earl Grey and a cup of water for my feline breakfast companion.  While waiting for my croissant, I hitched Fat-In-The-Box to his harness and retractable leash and opened the stroller for him to explore.  The ladies sitting inside the cafe were observing through the window in what can only be described as shock and awe.  I checked my email on my phone and Fidget padded around the patio.  He got his leash tangled in a chair, spilled the entire contents of his water cup, ate a bug, played with some mulch, and then eventually settled down a few feet away from our table to watch the traffic go by.

Suddenly, Fidget began...dancing?  He was up on his two back legs, flailing like a freshly caught halibut.  This continued until I realized...he's trying to get his harness off!  And goshdarnit, before another moment had passed, I watched my robust cat slip out of his harness like he was a greased pig.  I ran to him, and he ran from me under a table.  So I ran over there, and he ran from me to a different table.  So I ran over there, and he ran from me beside a bush.  I finally composed myself and walked over to him slowly, nonchalantly--he didn't suspect a thing.  I snatched him up just as he was about to nom on a tasty leaf, placed his lard-ass back in the stroller and gave him a healthy talking to.  Do I care if I look certifiably insane because I talk to my cat, who walks on a leash and has his own stroller?  In truth, no.  But I'm well aware that I was outside the realm of  "normal."

At long last, my croissant arrived and I enjoyed it while sharing tiny pieces of ham with Fat-for-Brains.  During this time, Fidget made several new friends, including the waitress, some dude who yelled out, "cool cat" from his camo-lined F-350, the busboy, and a nice couple from Louisiana who told me all about their two cats at home (Louie and Linus, I believe).  In addition to being my ham-loving companion, Fidget is also a wonderful conversation piece.  He's drawn a crowd more than once, and people seem to immediately bond with the big stripey cat who demands to see as much of the world as possible.  I have to say, I appreciate that my cat and I share a similar sentiment on life:  No man (or cat) can experience the world through a window.