Day One: Forty-Seven-Second Failure

Sun, 02 Aug 2026 19:23:55 -0500

Noon was the target,
2 p.m. the truth.
No appointment waiting,
no deadline keeping score…
so _late_ remained relative—
and two,
on a road trip,
still lives somewhere
in the general neighborhood of noon.
Finally packed,
finally ready,
one last question still unresolved:
How do you pack a Bubbles?
The only carrier Ava had
was the one he’d arrived in
when she rescued him five weeks earlier—
a cardboard Vet One box
with some holes in it.
It had served its purpose,
but
did
_not_,
in Baron Bubbles’s opinion,
reflect his current station.
Enough perseverance got him secured:
fifty-foot walk to Orcus,
one complaint filed
for each and every one of ’em…
one look at him,
one look at each other—
route revised.
The trip would begin
in the “Proper Cat Carrier” aisle
at PetSmart.
Carried our vocal passenger inside
with some haste,
and a lil’ help
from one happy-to-help associate.
Four models waited:
soft-sided,
hard-sided,
different doors,
zippers,
theories about what a cat might tolerate…
but no selection protocol was required.
Bubbles jumped into his choice,
settled the matter,
requested to be zipped up
so this operation could proceed.
“Yes, Sir.”
On the way out,
grabbed freeze-dried beef liver—
my never-fail
cat-or-dog-or-raccoon-or-whatever treats.
Treats secured,
Baron Bubbles finally riding
in an acceptable chariot…
_now_ we could depart.
First Leg Accepted:
get us
the _hell_
out of Dallas County. (ew)
Considered meandering around it,
but that would’ve added two hours—
even principles have limits.
Agreed to hold our noses and bear it.
Orcus agreed to maintain 85 mph-plus.
Dallas County countered with a crawl,
and teeth remained gritted
until the skyline disappeared
from the rear-view
and the blue skies
and green forests
of the East Texas Piney Woods
finally opened ahead of us.
Orcus was an enthusiastic partner.
Somewhere in there,
Bubbles opened one more ticket:
the facilities situation?
Oops.
Quickly fashioned a suitable loo
in the very back of Orcus,
added a scratching post,
and, while we were at it,
some pillows.
Orcus’s bed now a temporary throne room,
finally eastbound,
the first gas stop arrived.
We went inside,
leaving Bubba
(Ava’s nickname for Bubbles)
to fend for himself in Orcus.
Back first,
opened the door,
and cannot make this shit up:
Bubbles (Bubba?)
sitting in the driver’s seat
with both paws on the wheel.
Had Ava left the keys,
no doubt at all
he and Orcus would be
somewhere in Florida by now.
Under protest,
driver’s seat reclaimed,
Orcus pointed east again.
Leg Two remained mostly uneventful
until Rest Stop Number Three,
when Bubba’s cat harness and leash
finally got their trial.
It worked…
for forty-seven seconds.
At second forty-eight,
Bubbles resigned from domestication
and bolted up the nearest tree.
It took both of us
to corral His Lordship,
entreat him,
return him to Orcus.
Barely.
Naturally, we tried again
at another four or five rest stops,
Bubbles opening up more at each,
the real cat coming out:
more curious,
more adventurous,
more _himself_.
I never expected to have _fun_
with a cat on the road,
and don’t you _dare_
tell Bubba I said that.
After the next stop,
Ava took the wheel.
Everything after that is missing from the logs.
The system came back online
at 11:30 p.m.,
Candlewood Suites,
Pearl, Mississippi—
which is where Day One _should_ have ended.
… to be continued

Made It!

Thu, 09 Jul 2026 21:28:50 -0500

Made it.
Orca and I reached the Jackson waypoint,
which is technically Pearl,
technically the luxurious Candlewood Suites,
_exactly_ the kind of place a road trip chooses
when the day has done enough.
We stopped a few times.
More than a few,
if Orca is asked
under oath.
Love’s offered a dog park,
and Orca considered it
with the full seriousness
of a woman evaluating real estate.
No.
Apparently,
that was not
a _real_ rest stop.
So we found one,
then another,
then another…
because standards matter,
and Orca is not here to pretend otherwise.
Somewhere along the way,
we sent you a video—
proof of life,
proof of dog,
proof that the road
had not yet eaten us.
Around five or six,
you apologized
for being MIA.
No need, truly.
I expected more distance.
Not because I wanted it,
but because I know
how hurt sometimes moves
through you:
quieter first,
farther back,
letting the feeling find its edges
before it comes close again.
So when you appeared,
I was just happy.
Probably too happy,
if the next few rest stops
are allowed to testify
about my texting habits.
Not too much,
I hope.
Just enough.
Enough to let the miles know
they did not get
all of me.
Enough to keep
a little thread
stretched between Atlanta,
Mississippi,
and wherever we weren't together.
Then we got here.
Before the room key,
before the luggage,
before either of us had fully agreed
to stop being in the car,
Orca popped up behind me,
tongue out,
eyes bright,
looking like the whole trip
had been arranged for this exact photo.
I had the Ray Bans on,
the backwards cap,
the tired-road face
of a man trying to look casual
about being very relieved.
She looked perfectly posable.
So I did
what any reasonable staff member
would do: I took the picture.
Sent it.
A few hours later,
the heart hit.
And that was the real arrival.
Not the room key,
the parking lot,
the little map dot…
Your little yes
crossing the dark after me.
That’s when _I_ felt it: made it.
All the way
to the first place
I could miss you from
and still feel found.

Mississippi on Bougyman's Ramblings

Day One: Forty-Seven-Second Failure

Made It!