Yup, I’ve gone camping with a cat. Here is a cut and paste from my previous post, describing some of the more memorable aspects.
Little kitty claws on the air mattress.
Little kitty claws on your tent, as your early riser climbs between the tent and the fly to look down on you from above and wonder why you haven’t gotten up yet. It’s almost dawn, after all.
Sitting around the campfire toasting marshmallows at night, while little kitty dismembers the mice attracted to food scraps left by the previous campers.
Discovering your campground has fisher cats, also attracted by the mice feasting on the food scraps left by the previous campers. Kitty, in the tent, NOW.
And something I forgot to mention, kitty was an indoor cat at the time. He’d been outside with us, but he’d never been outside unsupervised. We didn’t realize until we were well into the trip, that kitty had never, ever, eliminated outside his well provisioned cat pan. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept. We’d let him out of his travel case, he’d sniff around, conclude there were no appropriate facilities, and then curl back up into a miserable ball. The poor little guy kept holding it and holding it until finally he finally erupted all over the inside of his carrier. Blech. Nothing like having to give a screaming cat an emergency bath en route.
The same process started to repeat at the campsite when we finally got there. Finally I found a hollow stump and sprinkled a little cat litter in it. (I had some cat litter even though I didn’t have the feline approved cat pan.) He decided the stump was similar enough to a cat pan that he could use it. I hope the next group of campers didn’t have any curious little kids along. Again, blech. Not a nice surprise.