Furry flying

Twenty-four hours and counting: the long drive to the New-ark airport with a color-blind driver who kept missing the exit turns, the delayed flight to Taiwan, then to Manila after a tiresome layover, then the final, interminable wait at the Philippine immigration line and carousel. I was agitated. I had been fed several times; my cats had not, and were possibly dehydrated and freezing in the cargo compartment of the airplane. Did they make it alive? Did they even make the connecting flight?

When I decided to move back to the Philippines, the idea of transporting my pets Baz and Delfina with me seemed to be an epic and laborious task. My roommate had shared custody of the kids, but when her job ended and she took off to do volunteer work in Thailand, they were left with me, and that meant coming home with me.

I did my research on the Internet, and found out that in the era of bird flu and bio-terrorism, pets were not allowed in the passenger cabins of international flights anymore. If you want to travel with your animal, it has to be separated from you and placed in an airline-approved carrier with the rest of the luggage, where they will be deprived of food, water, maybe even light, subject to hostile temperatures, turbulence, and general confusion.

There were many, many steps I needed to take to ensure that my cats would get on board, but the rules varied according to the airline. Initially I had planned to take Cathay Pacific, but they were very strict and did not allow live animals to be checked in on passenger flights — they had to shipped on a different plane specifically meant for cargo. Because the flight transits through Hong Kong, the owner would need to apply for an import permit and pay around $80 to the HK government. Then I would have to procure a health certification from the vet, update all their shots to prove that the pets are rabies-free and immunized against feline HIV and distemper. Then this certificate had to be approved by the US Department of Agriculture. Then I would still have to work on the Philippine part, which was to apply for another import permit and get the same health certificate approved by the Philippine Consulate in New York. Lots of paperwork, lots of fees, lots of problems.

Three weeks before I was scheduled to fly, I still hadn’t received the HK permit and started to freak out. But I ran into an acquaintance who also happened to be moving back to Manila, along with his pitbull Smoke. “I’m taking Eva Air,” he told me. “Less hassle.”

I immediately changed my flight to Eva Air, because they at least allowed pets as checked-in baggage and charged them as excess baggage. Now I was able to start work on this vexing health certification. The vet at the clinic just looked at me and asked, “Are you sure you’ve read everything? Do you even know what you’re getting into?” She had one client whose pet was denied boarding due to insufficient or incorrect paperwork.

At times I did question — especially after Baz would chew through yet another computer power cord, or Delfina would break a glass, or layers of cat hair would stick to my clothes, causing people to sneeze and me to look like I buy thrift store fur — are you guys worth it? But I was never serious. I didn’t even want to give them away (or no one wanted to take them) and a few people might have thought, Now, there’s a crazy cat lady!

The Philippine Consulate gave me a hard time because I didn’t get the health certification certified. Huh? “This piece of paper will not be accepted as legal in the Philippines until it has our stamp of approval,” I was told, and I wanted to cry. So I was sent on a journey around the city, getting a stamp from a notary public, then getting that stamp recognized by the New York County Clerk, then finally submitting the whole form back to the Consulate for them to issue a declaration of authenticity.

The incosolable mewling from Delfina, who panics in moving vehicles, broke my heart as I sent the kitties through the check-in counter at the airport. After more than 24 hours of not knowing their condition, when we were finally reunited at luggage carousel #3 and I saw that they were indeed still there in their carriers, looking a bit tired is all, I was so relieved and knew that it was all worth it — the expenses, the runarounds, the stress, the weird looks.

Then the guy at the quarantine desk said, “Ma’am, you don’t need this paper,” indicating the consulate’s officious stationary with a Philippine flag emblazoned across. Argh!

After a week of hiding under the bed, refusing food and panting like dogs, Baz and Delfina slowly adjusted to the climate, and came to accept their new home and family. Now they’re back to gnawing on electrical cords, shattering glass, swiping my food, and shedding and sharpening all over the furniture. Because of the (safely concluded) traumatic trip, we have forged a stronger bond — they at least pretend to listen to me now (they still end up doing their own thing, but that’s what we love about cats). Previously, they were real New York cats, independent and aloof, and I was a New York transplant, independent and afloat; now I’m a balikbayan, they are ex-catriates. But having flown across the world with me, they have become my familiars, and they contain my wandering soul.