The cat and the brat. Bridget Jones-ish London media type and fashionista Clare de Vries attempts to overcome her grief at her mother's death by travelling the US coast-to-coast but, in the absence of a willing companion, takes her cat along with her instead. This is the sort of thing my cat would hate: long periods of travel and having to get used to a new home every couple of nights are not usually preferred options for this most conservative of pet. Claudius seems to deal with being carried around in a bag like Paris Hilton's chihuahua pretty well; however, age is catching up to the senior cat (19 at the start of the trip).
Alright, look. When I read a memoir of this sort I'm prepared to accept the possibility, or even probability, that some of the events are exaggerated or outright made-up, so I can handle scenes like de Vries being offered a job in Texas after some inane contributions to a meeting. I can also accept that the author might engage in some conversation with her cat and imagine the cat's responses: hey, what pet owner doesn't do this, right? You can understand the peculiar decision to take the cat: faced with multiple tragedies and adrift from her family in the States, Claudius represents a familiar touchstone to his owner in a world where she's floating uncertainly, and, having been with her since she was 10, an increasingly rare link to her childhood.
Willingness to understand the logic or to take the narrative with a pinch of salt, however, doesn't make it any better. For a start, it's bitty as anything - it often feels like scrappy, unedited diary entries - and the lack of any driving motive or goal, combined with the repetitive nature, makes it dissatisfying. There's no real destination in 'On the Road', Kerouac's genre-defining piece, either, but at least Kerouac made travel in the jazz age seem like a thrilling, exhilirating experience and has the magnetic Dean Moriarty at its centre. Nobody as charismatic appears here: de Vries rarely comes across as a likeable person. I'm sure she is, but it's not immediately apparent in her work as she flees gambling debts, roams clothes stores, guzzles margheritas and gets into confrontations with all the grace and dignity of Joanna Lumley's 'Absolutely Fabulous' character.
Finally... well... this book came out in 1999, and I know that there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then, but did we really talk like this 17 years ago? There's two uses of the word 'poof'. Native Americans are referred to repeatedly as 'Indians' - this feels careless*. Then there's a ghastly scene in a Thai in Louisiana, which I will now excerpt. The author is in conversation with an Asian waitress who has just told her, apropos of nothing, that she is trans.
"Are you all like this?"
"Trannies? Yus." (So when she was a boy she fancied women and now she's a girl she fancies men...)
"Do you, ahem, have a toolbox, so to speak?" [...]
"Yes I do." She blinks and looks down, an Asian transvestite version of Prinny Di in her coy days. "But I took the pills to make my breasts grow."
Where to start? On the next page, [In] the loos, I ask one of the older girls - big blonde hair, a rhinestone top and lots of make-up - how she decides which bathroom to use? Does she alternative to make it more fun, as strictly speaking she can use both? She gives me a filthy look and exits. It's embarassing to read this; I've seen more tolerant handling of trans issues in 'Some Like it Hot'. In short: good cat, but would recommend other 'me and my cat' books on the market, i.e. almost any other.
* - I'd have anticipated 'Native American', a phrase which the author starts to use later in the book - albeit still interchangeably with 'Indian'. The preferred term is, it seems, 'American Indian'.