Comfort, Curiosity, and a Cat Named Penny
I’ve really been thinking about RVs a lot lately.
Not in a sell everything and disappear kind of way — more in the way you think about something when it keeps resurfacing, no matter how many times you push it aside. I’ve rented a couple of Class C RVs over the past few years and taken short trips with them, and each time I come back thinking, this might actually be the right fit for me.
But, as with most things lately, it’s not that simple.
When Van Life Was the Dream
A few years ago, I remember saying out loud, “Van life might be interesting.”
And like many people, I went down that rabbit hole — absorbing videos, channels, beautifully edited stories of freedom, minimalism, and waking up in wild places.
For a while, it felt like the obvious answer.
Then Penny entered the picture.
Having a cat — especially one who travels with me — changes the equation. My travel goals often pull me away from the vehicle for hours at a time. Lakes. Rivers. Trails. Long walks chasing sunrise and sunset light. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that traditional van life (or a Class B) might not be the best move — not for how I travel, and not for Penny.
The Freedom to Leave — Without Leaving Everything Behind
That’s when I started thinking differently.
What I really want is a comfortable, safe home base — one where Penny can stay cool or warm, plugged into shore power, while I head out to explore. That led me to consider travel trailers and fifth wheels. The idea of parking somewhere for a few days and then taking off in a tow vehicle to explore nearby areas started to make a lot of sense.
Then came another idea.
Class A motorhomes.
If I could find a shorter Class A — maybe around 30 feet — towing a small vehicle behind it suddenly becomes an option. I actually saw several Class C owners doing exactly that on my trips last year. That setup offers something important: mobility without uprooting Penny every time I want to wander.
What I’m Really Trying to Balance
When I strip it all down, this is what I’m trying to solve for:
- A comfortable environment for Penny
- The ability to leave the RV safely powered and climate-controlled
- Freedom for me to explore without breaking camp every time
- A setup that works for longer-term travel, not just weekend trips
- A realistic solution given where I currently live
That last one matters more than I’d like.
The Practical Reality Check
I live in a condo in South Florida.
I have nowhere to park an RV if I buy one.
That alone opens up a whole separate set of questions: storage costs, accessibility, logistics, and whether owning makes sense right now versus renting for longer stretches. There are a lot of projections to run, kinks to iron out, and plans to sketch before any real decisions get made.
But thinking through it is part of the process.
Why This Keeps Coming Back
The truth is, my goal of visiting all 63 national parks over the next couple of years — before I finish my 63rd year on this planet — has brought all of this back into focus. That kind of journey asks for a rhythm. A way of moving that’s sustainable, flexible, and grounded.
RV life — in some form — keeps raising its hand.
Not as an escape.
Not as an identity.
But as a tool.
No Conclusions Yet — Just Motion
I don’t have answers yet.
And I’m okay with that.
What I do have is curiosity, experience, a cat who needs comfort, and a growing desire to design travel in a way that supports both exploration and reflection.
This isn’t a declaration.
It’s a conversation I’m continuing — with myself, and maybe with anyone else quietly wondering what comes next.
More on all of this later.