Feline on a train ...

Last night I took my cat to my friend's house. We weren't invited for dinner or anything like that - I'm going on holiday and my friend is cat-sitting. This involved taking my cat on the train.

My cat doesn't like the train.

She doesn't like lemon yogurt either, but there she just shows her disgust by sniffing and walking away. Perhaps because the cat carrying contraption doesn't allow her to walk away she shows her displeasure with another method.

The method involves a screaming miaow which makes passengers look at me as if to say: "What are you doing to that poor cat?" That and "Christ, what's wrong with it?"

Once I drove for 8 hours with my parents. I should add she's not a big fan of cars either. My cat made this siren miaow for about 80% of the time.

"Make her stop!" said my mother.

"How?"

I still don't have the answer.

Last night was further complicated by the arrival of N° 2 ... a little poop in the cage, which stank in the train and disturbed the cat even further. I eventually managed to open the door, gather the n°2 with a tissue, and throw it away, while the cat pushed surprisingly hard at the door. That's all I need - a stressed cat running free in the SNCF carriage.

Luckily she recovers pretty quickly and is now nicely installed next to the windowsill in her holiday home. Until I come back from holiday and have to take her on the train.

Miaaaaaaaoooooooowwwwwwwwww............

damn the electric fence!

Last night I ran for the train. I should emphasize that I never run for trains unless they're international ones or TGVs. Running for a metro is mad, as there is always another one in about 3 minutes. Exception to this is running for the last metro. There, you should run your little feet off.

Anyway, last night, it wasn't a last train but I didn't have another train for half an hour (RER A Cergy line ... sigh) and so I ran - I ran like the wind! Zoom! Through the corridors at Nation! Whish! Down the stairs (almost faster than the escalators as no-one uses them). Whoosh! Down more stairs to find myself on the platform for line 6.

Dammit, that's not right.

Down more stairs, along more corridors.

I saw the screen with "Cergy - train à l'approche" and ran faster. By now, my lungs were starting to fill with fire ants. But I didn't want to sit at Nation for another half hour as I'd already done that the night before. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. Down the escalators, past the people getting off the train, who no matter how fast you're running, or how clearly desperate you are to get on the train, DO NOT MOVE. Being English, I just say 'pardon! pardon!' very politely, instead of screaming 'Get the hell out of my way! Can't you see I need to get this train!'

So, I dodged everyone and leapt onto the train in triumph.

Only to realise that it was the train for Vincennes, and my train was next to me, at the other platform. Which involved two escalators and a corridor.

Half an hour later I got the train home.

The Pole

The train pulled into the station, and the woman held the pole. She'd been holding it since she set foot on the train, and nothing was going to make her let go of it. Not the masses of people crushed against her, not the crazy swaying of the train as the driver accelerated around the bends, not even the girl with the crutch who just wanted something to hold on to. No. It was her pole. A protection against everything - Parisians who hadn't washed that morning, buskers with their never-been-in-tune violins, ladies with pushchairs. It was as if she thought there wasn't gravity in Paris - hell, if she didn't hold on who knows what would happen? She'd float away! Up, up and away! Off above the rooftops of the city, up over the Sacre Coeur, drifting past Saint Denis, never to be seen again!

Part of me thought she really did believe this - even when the train arrived at her station and she was about to get off, she only let go of the pole once she had her feet safely on the platform. What did she think? That if she let go of the pole that the train would speed off immediately and she'd be left in public transport limbo, waiting for another train, for another pole to arrive.

Stranded there, poleless in Paris.