Tifton, Georgia

I’ve left behind the cooler temperatures of the North East and have driven south to slide under a hot heavy damp blanket of South Georgia. Tifton. The size of the phone book suggests a town of one horse, a boiled peanut stand and a factory outlet for towels and sheets. But at Exit 62 the double-laned road choked with tractor trailers and pick ups, lined with cheap chain hotels, gas stations, Americana fast food and the ubiquitous Wal-Mart, sprawls as an oasis of commerce for those who are just passing through. Could anyone live here?

This is day two of my long road trip to Florida. Traveling with cats is like getting your sea legs...a three day process. On day one the cats are shocked, and silently huddle in any little crack or crevasse, they can squeeze their little bodies into. On day two, they protest, wandering about, gazing out the windows, piling on my lap and for Phoenix yelling her head off. On day three, they settle in bored with watching telephone poles and white dotted line whiz by.

I've been juicing Phoenix up. Not an easy task.