Am I from Texas yet?

If staying in Lubbock, Texas this evening doesn't get my foot in the door, then I'm out of ideas. I'd be lying to say I'm not pretty down right now. Leaving Espanola this morning was catastrophic on account of Sparty's special wedging abilities, with which he can insert himself into crevices that are impossible for humans to access and should by rights be impossible for him to access as well. As a result, I had to recruit the front desk agent to help me play "Johnny Depp goes to a hotel," which involved stripping all the bedding, propping the mattresses and mattress pads against the walls, and running around the room and knocking things over until the only place he had left to hide was his despised carrier. Seeing the sheer terror in his face, and seeing Meep lying under the desk right now, clearly exhausted from another grueling day in the car, is not a good feeling. I've spent the day wondering what the hell I'm doing going to a place I have no reason to be and what the hell I've done to my life. This was supposed to be a way to travel within cat-friendly parameters, but has fallen down pretty egregiously on that front, and I can't help but wonder if I've done them any favors by changing my life plans to revolve around them, as they're clearly miserable. I realize this is temporary. We should arrive at the extended stay hotel tomorrow, and then I will kick into full gear trying to find us all a stable home base while I try to figure things out. But man, the interlude has been sucky for them, and it's getting to me. I know I need to buck up and just recognize this all for the learning experience it is, but let's just say it's a good thing Pizza Hut (don't judge) doesn't offer bleach (or forties) on their drinks menu.