The wind rippling his fur, Sport Cat roared onto the highway and headed west. He revved his custom Jaguar convertible to a perilous speed. Without a backward glance at the cheap motel he had just vacated he put on his shades and muttered "I'm outa here." A highway sign flashed past, Route 66 it read. "Cool" thought Sport Cat. While not the world's most educated cat, he knew route 66 led to California, that had to be a good thing.

Sport Cat drove west like a cat in a very fast car. It was a sunny day and he kept the top down and enjoyed the speed and the sensation of the sun on his glossy black fur. He passed car after car as his custom wheels ate up the pavement. Sport Cat had few ambitions in his life except finding the next sunny spot and fathering as many kittens as he could. So far it had been a long and productive summer on both counts, and he looked forward to more of the same. Somewhere in Arizona he realised he had left his suitcase behind. He sighed, it was not the first time. At least he had remembered his shades.

Sport Cat spent the night in one of the frequent nap stops along the highway. The hunting was terrible and it got unconscionably cold during the night. By morning he was hungry and chilled to the bone. The only positive thing was that he discovered that the desert was basically one big litter box. He had heard that before but had never really believed it until now. If half the things Sport Cat had heard about California were true he was in for some fun. By noon it had warmed up and he had supped on a few lazy lizards he caught napping on rocks. He continued driving west into the sun, California couldn't be far.

And it wasn't, within an hour of noon he crossed the border into the state of California. After a brief elation he couldn't help but notice that the California desert looked pretty much the same as the Arizona desert. This was disappointing but Sport Cat was sure it couldn't last. There had to be a beach somewhere to the west, as well as the other myriad attractions in this fabled land. Beaches and their attendant beach kitties. With thoughts of eight cup bikinis spinning in his head he sped west.

His amusing reverie was broken by the sight of flashing lights in his rear view mirror. It was the CHP, the dreaded Cat Highway Patrol. Sport Cat briefly considered making a run for it, but a glance at his nearly empty fuel gauge brought him quickly to his senses. He pulled over and an officious looking Siamese approached his car. Sport Cat prayed the cop wouldn't search his jag and find his supply of high potency genetically enhanced catnip, liberated from a secret research lab in the Ozarks. He couldn't afford to spare any and cops would usually seize catnip on the slightest pretext. Fortunately his papers were in order and after sniffing suspiciously the Siamese had to let him go with only a ticket for speeding.

Sport Cat continued on at a more sedate pace, it had not been an auspicious start to his stay in California. By nightfall he was in Santa Meownica. He checked into the cheapest motel he could find and went to prowl the beach and boardwalk. The results were satisfying to say the least. He was easily the biggest and blackest cat on the beach, and he was never seriously challenged. There were plenty of bikinis and of course going topless was always in style. He had all the dates he could handle and by midnight he was one very tired and very happy cat. He staggered back towards his motel to rest and recuperate.

Because of his condition he didn't notice the police cars outside his motel until it was too late. A pair of enormous Maine Coon Cats grabbed and held him while other cats searched his car and room. That blasted Siamese thought Sport Cat, he must have checked out of state. Sport Cat was wanted for kitten support in at least 12 states, he had known it would catch up with him sooner or later. The police cats took his car. They took his catnip (what was left of it.) They took his money. They took his motel room. After a stern lecture on feline responsibility, they turned him loose.

Sport Cat headed for the beach, he would have to sleep there. He was penniless, exhausted, and hungry. And he had been in California less than a day, it certainly was an interesting place. He found a sunny spot on the beach and curled up for some well needed rest, he was so tired even the friendly advances of a Burmese lovely didn't interest him. As he drifted off he realised there was really only one thing to do. Somehow he would have to get a surfboard. Sport Cat had indeed made it to California.