Things were going pretty smoothly. I was waiting on the security line and was about to put the cat box on the belt to go through the machine when a Transportation Security Administration guy said, "You're going to have to take the cat out of the box and walk it through."
I said, "What? There's no way that is going to happen."
"Well, then you can't go through," he said.
"Do you know what I've been through? Look at my hands, look at my arms, look at my face! There's no way I'm taking that cat out of that box!"
I was yelling, waving my arms at the TSA dude. People were looking at me, some shocked, others just perturbed. I was that guy. I was a crazy cat lady guy.
My biggest fear was that I would get her out of the case and she would jump out of my arms and my life would become a Disney comedy. I pictured a montage of me running after a cat on jetways, down the aisles of planes, in the middle of a runway, on aircraft wings, behind ticket counters, on a baggage claim.
I had made such a scene that when I went to take LaFonda out of the box the TSA guy said, "Okay, everyone stand back." Like I was defusing a bomb. I lifted little LaFonda out of the crate and she was more frightened than I was, but not much. I walked her quickly through the metal detector and then started screaming, "Where's the box!"