I got to thinking about what Freyja said, and I thought, "What could be so hard about getting three cats in the same carrier at the same time?" Of course, I only have two cats, and they don't have claws, but still. . .
First I had a couple or three beers, then went and got the carrier and set it down in the living room floor. Both cats looked up from where they lay in the sun. Mac got up and stretched, and the cats commenced doing stretching exercises and setting their paws in the starting chocks. I said, "Here, kitty, kitty. Kitty?" I looked around, and they were gone! Mac, too.
I could hear the sound of a stampede overhead. The upstairs floor reverberates nicely. So I trotted up the stairs after them. Not a critter in sight.
Room to room I went, calling sweetly, "Here, kitty, kitty. . .comere, you damn cat!" While down on my knees peering under the bed in the back bedroom, I heard the stampede going down the stairs. So I trotted back downstairs and started searching around, under, and in between the articles of furniture. Under the center section of the sofa is a favorite hidey-hole, so I got down on my knees and started pawing around under there, only to get bitten by one or the other of the critters. Hope it was one of mine; at least I know who they are.
Suddenly the couch gave a lurch and nearly toppled backwards on me, then I heard the stampede on the stairs and overhead again.
Time for another beer or two and regroup. As I sat there on the couch regrouping, I saw three hairy little faces peering at me through the stair rails upstairs. Looked like the Smith Brothers and one of their cousins. When I stood up, they disappeared again.
I went into the kitchen and got the kitty treats and another beer. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and shook the can of treats, calling sweetly, "C'mere, you little fiends." Sprayed beer all over me; shook the wrong can.
Finally Mac came down, little tail tucked under, head hanging. Mac loves kitty treats. But he wasn't the one I wanted. I was trying to prove something--couldn't remember what, but it was something important--with the cats. I gave him a treat and told him to go hide in the snake's pen until I either came to get him out or scooped him up with the rest of the snake poop later. He didn't take me up on it.
I trudged up the stairs again, Mac thumping along behind, and headed for the master bedroom. Mac ran ahead of me and pointed at the bed. The covers were trembling suspiciously. I shoved them to one side and grabbed Sam before she could escape. "Gotcha!"
Triumphantly I carried her back downstairs and tried to put her in the cat carrier. I had to turn loose with one hand to open the door, and she squirmed loose and took off again. It was like trying to hold onto a greased octopus with teeth and hind legs that could kick like a rabbit. Plus, for some reason my coordinooshun wasn't all that great.
I stumbled back up the stairs, caught the two miscreants, scooped one up in each arm, and carried them both back downstairs, me nearly going arse over tit at every step, them squirming and twisting and biting the whole time. Mac kept getting under my feet and helping.
When I got to the carrier, I stood there and looked at it for a long time. Now what? There was no way I could hold both cats, unlatch the door, open it, and stuff them in there. Made me almost want to cry. But I was determined; I knelt down in front of the carrier and started trying to open it with my teeth. But even my mouth wasn't big enough to stretch far enough to depress both latches at the same time (I was going to say "simil. . .simultankerously" or something like that, but gave it up as being beyond my capacitooties).
Just then Patty got home. She just stood there looking for the longest time trying to figure it out. She said later she thought I was trying to eat the carrier. Plus the whole house smelled like a brewery. I told her the critters got into the beer and made a mess, but I don't think she believed me.
So, I guess you're right, Freyja; it is a feline rodeo trying to get the critters into a carrier.