It’s 7 in the morning, I’ve got to Milan Linate airport two hours before my plane to Bari, and already things are going horribly wrong. The airline aren’t letting my cats fly with me. I’ve got documents to show they’re microchipped and all their vaccines are in order, but two uniformed men, straight out of Mussolini central casting, are telling me the carry-cage is all wrong.
Perhaps I should resent these animals and all the hassle they’ve brought me
‘It should have metal sides,’ they snap. ‘You cannot fly with this cage.’ I tell them honestly that I flew with it from Britain the day before – the very same airline to this very airport – that I always fly with it, but they’re having none of it. I’m thinking about what it will be like to miss this plane, to have to haul my cats and rucksack and suitcase onto a crowded Milanese tube to Central Station, and go overnight on the train.
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