by DeeJAY

Hoomans!
It's come to my cattention
animals are not allowed
to travel aboard planes
without hooman companionship,
which is why I'm riding
with Hooman #1's father
to the City of Sin.

Hooman #1 has instructed me
(like she has any say)
to limit my chatter
to meowing around her father
since he is unaware
of Cat Society #337
running important operations
in his daughter's living room.

She also says
he likes conspiracy theories
a little too much
and is afraid
he'll want to nosedive
into Babylonian lore.

I'm not sure why
it's bad to learn about
the terrible influence
of the Proxima Centauri B
lizardmen who descended
from Jurassic aliens, but
I agree to Hooman #1's terms
because I don't want
to ride with the luggage
in the air-conditioned
cargo cabinet.

Also, Hooman #1's father—
we'll just call him Grandpa—
is missing a front tooth
and wearing a shirt
that shows an energy bar
at thirty-five percent capacity
with the big letters
FART NOW LOADING
in screen-printed ink,
which means he's a good
conversational traveling buddy.

Every Middle-Aged
Person at the Airport
Nice shirt.

Grandpa
Thanks.

DeeJAY
Meow.

I wish Grandpa could learn
to carry the cat carrier
with a little less jostle
on the way to the terminal,
but other than that,
this will be the best
trip to Las Vegas
in my life.

(It's also my first trip.)