Miracle in Canuck-land

It was a ratchety croak that came from --  from where? A friend and I had pulled over to the side of the highway and stopped to look at an old cemetery. We scanned the grasses and the ditch before us. A bird? A frog? Or perhaps the imagination -- because it stopped as quickly as it began.

We climbed back into the pick-up and continued down the road. Now up to about 30 miles total, we turned off the highway to follow a garage sale sign. We slowed to a stop and the sound came again, as curiosity turned to concern. Were the bearings going out on the truck? I bent to glance underneath but didn't see anything obvious. We went into the garage sale where I purchased a beautiful rag rug. I was carrying it to the truck when the sound pierced the air. Definitely NOT the truck, since it was parked. I edged underneath on my back, further and further, until I spied a terrified little kitten on the frame. I yelled to my friend for help; the garage sale folks came running too. I reached for the fur ball but he launched like a rocket and headed into the thick forest. "Probably won't see him again," said the owners. There are bear, fox, skunks around here ... you name it." So I looked even harder. I spotted the little guy twenty yards away in a ditch drinking furiously  from a stream. It was  hot where he'd been riding, and how long was he under there? I approached but he bolted, jumped into the ditch stream and swam away. A little survivor.

I left my name and phone number with the garage sale hosts in case he showed up. I didn't want him to die in the forest, especially after he'd gone to the trouble to attach himself to the truck and hitch a ride. I woke up around midnight and decided I was going to drive back the next morning and look for him. At 8:00 a.m. the phone rang. He'd shown up outside the garage saler's window ... coincidentally, around midnight.

What WAS I doing? I lived in my travel trailer and was NOT looking for a cat, but this little fella's mystery got my attention. To hop on the truck and ride at full speed down the highway? To somehow make his way to me? He was about seven weeks old and in sorry shape. His eyes were real weepy and he had a sneeze; his sinus' were congested. From up the road in Kaslo, Carole consulted and prescribed some homeopathics as the symptoms slowly dissipated. His orange marbled coat turned from scruffy to gorgeous. He had a precious kitty spirit: he perched like a parrot on my shoulder. Teak was indifferent and kitty was fearless towards the dog. He took to the litter box in a snap. When I packed to move from Creston to Kaslo my friend offered to take him to the animal shelter. I was sure about that option -- kitty was going with me.

The appearance of two little lumps recently confirmed that he was a he. Named the little guy who hitched a ride HOBO. Everyone who meets him loves him. He's a savvy little stinker. Carole says she'd love to take him, but he would make a good RV cat. Of course, I'd have to sneak him across the border. I have time to think about it.  My replacement driver's license has yet to arrive in the mail from my purse being stolen. I won't be driving into the US until it does. Meanwhile, Lil Hobo bores deeper and deeper into my heart.