I haven’t yet been subjected to an airport pat-down, though I do not question those who describe the experience as intrusive, invasive, and offensive. Who would enjoy being frisked and groped in a TSA security line, especially by an insensitive stranger?
I’m certainly no stranger to Lucius, who has never seen an airport and rarely leaves home, mostly because of suffering from motion sickness (among other maladies of the heart and the mind). But Lucius is a wise sounding board, and so I asked him if he had an opinion on pat-downs.
According to the Tao of Lucius, felines live for pat-downs, particularly the ones classified as enhanced pat-downs. Lucius doesn’t understand the uproar over the TSA guards and does not condone the outrage over the upgraded, full-body scans. Every stroke matters immensely to Lucius, and there is simply no such thing in his world as my lingering too long over the back of his head or in between his shoulders.
“Palms up,” Lucius seemed to say as I approached him this morning for his post-breakfast massage. “Do you want a pat-down,” I asked him teasingly?
“More, please,” meowed Lucius, without any sign of revolt.
Query of the Day: How many pat-downs do you give each day—to your cats, that is?
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