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There's a house down the street from me where dozens of cats hang out in the driveway. (Okay, not dozens. Most I've counted at one time is 18.) A solitary, balding man lives there alone. Don't know his story, or the cats'.
Anyway, I walked by there on my way home from the bus stop yesterday, and he was biking out of the driveway with a cat carrier in his front basket. I asked him if someone had to go to the vet. "Nope," he said. "Just going for a ride."
Lucy likes getting into my wheeled bag that I use to transport files to and from the office. But I can't imagine taking her out in one of those things.
I think to push a cat stroller like this you need a very special outfit. Like, maybe a long black negligee. And a long cigarette holder. And curlers. And possibly long fake red fingernails. Oh and a mink stole.
The Bees had an excellent cat stroller she would get on top of to play with all the time. I'd move the feathered pole around inside the netting and she'd try and catch it. We only took it out once but she was happy enough. I'm not one to be pushing a cat stroller out and about. We still miss it, though. She likes to mount and claw things and there is now way to harness this impulse safely for furniture. I let her develop bad habits because I hated my chairs. Simply horrible.