Mr. Monte here. I’ve politely told old Fuzz Face to back off from the computer tonight so that I can tell you my side of the story. What story? Well, of course, what really happened on the shakedown cruise of El Camino Del Monte. It’s not at all like Fuzz Face would have you believe. Even his grandchildren will tell you that he wouldn’t recognize the truth even if he stumbled over it – he tends to embellish – if you know what I mean.

As you can see from the featured picture, this RV thing that Fuzz Face and Blondie call El Camino Del Monte was actually payment in tribute to me. It was supposed to be my summer palace. When it arrived at Serendipity Farmhouse, I performed all the required regal ceremonies. I sniffed. I rubbed up against things. I prowled into deep, dark corners and spaces. I even climbed to the highest places and left my scent for all to know – this RV thing was and still is mine.

I noted several deficiencies to old Fuzz Face. My primary concern was that the air conditioning wouldn’t work with anything less than a 30 Amp circuit. He promised me in his usual slavish manner that this would be corrected immediately. To date, no 30 Amp service and no air conditioning.

Despite all the needless problems caused by Fuzz Face and Blondie, I was prepared to spend a quiet and peaceful season in my summer palace. I was prepared, but Fuzz Face and Blondie had something else in mind – a blasted, infernal, ridiculous, and exceedingly dangerous shakedown cruise.

There it was, late morning on the 5th of August. The old guy coerced me to get into my carrier and said we were heading out to the RV. Why should I refuse? I knew that my servants had food, water, and a clean cat pan waiting in the RV. I also knew that the bed had been made and would provide the perfect place for a nap.

All was well with the world, my subjects were seeing to my needs and desires.

Vrroomm! The RV began to make noise and there was a sickening vibration from the floor, through my carrier, and into my very bones. Vrroomm, Vrroom! We were off with a lurch, with a shudder, with no warning, no soothing words, nothing except intense, excruciatingly unpleasant noise and motion.

My palace, my Summer hideaway, began to jerk up and down and sway nauseatingly from side to side. And, we weren’t even out of the driveway yet. Then, we rolled and bounced onto the highway. I heard old Fuzz Face say to Blondie, “Hey, let’s take the long way and drive over Chester Gap into Front Royal.” Traitor to the cat she claimed to adore, she said, “That’s a great idea!”

Friends, I can’t tell you, nor could I ever express completely how much stress was caused to my system over the next hour of driving. Old Fuzz Face was auditioning for a movie to be called “The Cabbie from Hell”. Weaving to and fro, nearly going airborne over small hills just to hear if I would complain. A true sadist was at the wheel and Blondie egged him on.

We pulled into the RV camp, and Fuzz Face shouted with glee that he had backed into a spot successfully. In truth, he almost ran over Blondie who was trying to give him directions. He was a madman, I tell you, a madman. Then came the final lurch as he stopped abruptly, but everything else in the RV kept moving.

Now, Blondie has told people that I hid under the passenger seat for six hours. She almost implies that I am not a catly cat. Let me just explain. Self preservation and survival of the fittest is rule number one in my kingdom. Who knows what other horrors Fuzz Face had planned for me.

So, I finally ventured out to see what damage had been done to my summer palace. It was then, when I crawled up into the driver’s seat that I saw the alien creatures in the mirror, roaming about us. Not only had Fuzz Face taken me far from Serendipity Farmhouse, I could tell by the looks of these creatures that he had taken all of us to a different planet. They ate grass, if you can imagine that. They had boxy bodies and ugly, bony backs, and were colored with ridiculous black and white patches.

Being smarter than Blondie and Fuzz Face, I headed to another hiding place.

And so it went for the first day and late into the second day. I would have stayed in my secure spot, but a cat has to eat. I ventured forth, but there was no longer trust in my heart for Blondie and Fuzz Face. I refused to purr for them. In fact, at one point, to cause them some of the stress that I had been feeling, I even played ‘possum.

Blondie nearly flipped out and began to cry. Fuzz Face, for once in his life, had a worried look on his grizzly face. I lay motionless and limp and let the whites of my eyes show in a sickening way. They freaked! So, rather than cause them all the indignity that I had been made to feel, I finally demonstrated that I was still with them.

I let them rest some during the second night. Blondie wanted to go home. She was worried about me. Fuzz Face, however, was not swayed by Blondie’s words nor did he seem to give a darn about my well being. He simply said, “We’re staying.”

Okay, I had my fun. I gave them back the distress they had given to me. It was time to return to my regal, catly behavior. At precisely 4:02 AM on the third day, I pounced on old Fuzz Face, just as I would do on any day. I nipped him on his forearm, almost drawing blood, and said, “Get up! Feed me! Make some coffee and say your morning prayers.

Being a good servant, He got up, fed me, made some coffee, and said his morning prayers.

No matter what they might try to tell you, that’s really the way it happened. I’m hoping they’ve learned a lesson. And to you, Fuzz Face, see what happens to your arm if you ever try to get me into that carrier again.