A Cat Story--An Austrian Tail or Tale!

My son Adam is in Austria, awaiting the arrival of his dear wife.  In the meantime, the cats arrived first by freight.  This is the saga of Adam's trip to Munich to pick the critters up.  :-)

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I got to the train station at 6:30 a.m., an hour early, and noticed to my surprise that there was a train departing right then for Munich. Quick as a wink, I jumped on only to discover too late that this was a regional train that was going to stop at every doggone village in the entirety of Austria before getting to Munich. Furthermore, it's Octoberfest; so at each village, the train gets more and more crowded with people in costume and getting some advanced drinking in (and often with kids). Apparently for Octoberfest, gals dress up like slutty dairymaids and guys dress up like extras for the Nutcracker, either that or Willie Wonka.

Anywho, I neglected to write down the name of the cargo agency on my piece of paper, which was bad luck; but I did figure out at the last second that the stop before domestic travel was for the cargo companies, which was good luck.

The cats had not been processed when I found the right place, which was mildly bad luck; so I was directed to the cafeteria for some lunch, which was mildly good luck, as I was hungry. Ate the worst, most unnameable sandwich I've ever encountered, which was bad luck, went back to the cargo people to discover that they wanted me to pay them for holding paperwork done elsewhere with the money I'd just spend on lunch, which was worse luck, and they let me know that I could get cash out at a point they were able to point to on the distant horizon, which was worse luck still. And, of course, my stupid Austrian bank has still not given me a bank card, so I'm praying that they accept my American one, etc.

I come back, and a woman whose job is all and only to direct people from her office to customs gives me the wrong address for customs. I eventually find customs, which directs me to a warehouse whose address can only be seen when you are already inside it (think George McDonald's fairies).

I finally am greeted by Gloria and Garfunkel and proceed to do the first round of Dantean penance, which is carrying these shifty, heavy, loud, tortured beasts. I find my way back to the city train terminal; and since I hadn't learned my lesson last time, I jump on the first train that's headed to the Ostbahnoff station that I want to get to. Unfortunately, I did not know that there are two city trains that go from the airport to the bigger train stations and I just got on the wrong one, the one going the long way around the city before getting to those stations.

Meanwhile, the cats cry every time the automated female voice comes on to announce the next stop (on the off chance that it is Monica no doubt).  They cry whenever the doors open, they cry whenever someone pays attention to them, and they cry whenever anyone tells them "shh" or the German equivalent. The entire train is full of ridiculously dressed Germans going to Octoberfest who hate cats, except for the one out of ten who take pity on them (which, of course, causes them to cry louder). 

I get off the city train to find that my train to Innsbruck has left without me. Get on the next train to Innsbruck, am told by the conductor that I need to go further back in the train, not, as one might guess because I accidentally got on in first class (I was already in a second class car), but rather, because I had cats, and that meant for some reason that I must go to the back of the train.

I go several cars back, hands aching with the weight of the cats, only to be told a second time by the conductor (whose version of speaking English is speaking German sentences very slowly) to go to the back. So, I go to the back of the back, only to discover cars that have no room anywhere for cat crates. OK. So, I stack them in the space adjoining two cars and have to stand next to them until we get to Austria and enough people have gotten off to put them side by side. At this point, I discover the only thing that will shut up the cats:  the attention of little children.

Between one and three children, as well as an asthmatic old man, decided the cats were the best thing ever and between that and a louder train, noisy cats ceased to be an issue. At which point, I tried to steer an Irish psychologist living in France away from the topic of refugees as he seemed to think we had too many, which I thought was a little ironic.

Anyway, we finally get to Innsbruck, and I carry the little creatures the mile or so to the apartment, taking frequent breaks to wring out my hands. During one of these breaks, a local tried to buy one off of me to please his girlfriend / wife.

Garfunkle

They are now safe and sound in the apartment and have addressed all necessary biological functions and have located the litter box. They rather like looking out at the world from the patio and are grateful to be able to move around, though I get the vague sense that they're wondering where Monica is.

Gloria


Thus ends the Austrian tale.