I was already running late, tossing things into my suitcase in a total frenzy, doing my best to beat the traffic and make it to the airport on time. Sweaters? Thrown in. Tiny bottles of shampoo? In. The box of hair dye I absolutely didn’t need but still packed for some reason? That made it too.
I stepped out of the room for literally a couple of seconds to grab my charger, and when I walked back in… there he was.
Rocco. All eighteen pounds of him, curled up perfectly on the right side of my rolling suitcase, like he had purchased a ticket and was ready to board. He was completely out—snoring softly, as if this was a normal travel routine for him.
I just stood there, staring. Honestly, how does a cat manage to cram himself into a half-packed suitcase and fall asleep without even waking up? He looked so completely serene that I actually felt like I’d be doing something wrong if I moved him. For a moment—and let’s be real, it was longer than a moment—I truly thought about not going at all. Canceling the whole trip, blaming it on sudden food poisoning, and just curling up in bed next to him instead.
It’s not like I hadn’t thought about doing that before. There had been so many times when I’d wanted to ditch everything just to hang out with him. Rocco had this weird superpower—he could make everything seem calmer, a little softer around the edges. Life just felt less chaotic when he was near, his steady purring filling the quiet gaps in the house, and those big golden eyes always looking at me like he somehow understood more than I did.
But this time, I couldn’t back out. I had a plane to catch, a work trip I really couldn’t blow off. Meetings, deadlines, and a to-do list that was waiting for me in another city. So, reluctantly, I leaned down to scoop him out of the suitcase.
Only… he wouldn’t budge. He was so perfectly tucked in, like he’d been custom-designed to fit that exact space. The way his fur settled into the folds of my clothes—it was like my suitcase had become his personal hammock.
I let out a sigh and shook my head. “Rocco, you’re not coming with me,” I said quietly, giving him a gentle nudge. But he didn’t even flinch.
Maybe it was the pressure of the trip, or maybe it was the way he looked up at me, all slow blinks and sleepy confidence, like he knew I was about to cave. Maybe it was just the comforting idea of having him with me—this loyal, slightly ridiculous creature who’d stuck with me through every emotional storm, every late-night breakdown, every little win and every massive mess.
In that moment, I made a decision—I wasn’t going to fight him on this. I was going to let him stay right where he was.
And, honestly, that might’ve been my first mistake.
I zipped up the suitcase as carefully as I could, trying not to wake him. The whole thing felt a little sneaky, like I was doing something wrong—but I didn’t care. I dragged the suitcase to the door, pulled on my coat, and was already mentally rehearsing how I’d explain this to TSA when I got there.
But then… reality hit me.
I hadn’t actually planned this out. How exactly was I going to get Rocco past airport security? There was zero chance they’d allow a cat through without the proper paperwork, a travel carrier, or at least some kind of preparation.