Mike

DESTINY

I was rounding the last curve on the Black Diamond Road on my way home. On the right side of the road was the old barn with “East Pittsburg” painted on the side. On the left was a hand-written cardboard sign. It was the kind of sign that causes my husband to sigh deeply and say, “Oh, boy.” Luckily, he wasn’t with me.

“Free Kittens,” it said.  My inner five-year old stopped the car.

We weren’t in the market for a cat. Lila Ruby had been more cat than anyone needs in a lifetime. She was long gone. Spencer wasn’t that amusing except for having 15 toes on his front feet. And Bruce had that mild allergy to cats.

Still----kitties. I do love kitties. I’d just take a look.

In the mile and a half between there and home, I named her Lily and reassured her as best I could; she had just left her mother for the first time. She was only 6 weeks old and fit nicely in the palm of my hand. I opened the car door in the driveway and said, “Here’s your new home, Lily Cat.” With that, the afternoon from hell began.

First, a digression. A few weeks after Lily arrived, my son carried her to me and flipped her over. “Mom, you’re a nurse, right? This is no Lily.” So Lily became Mike. Back to afternoon from hell.

Mike the cat leapt from my hands, jumped out of the car, and disappeared into the woods. By the end the summer we don’t go into the woods much because it’s very thick and deep. You can barely see your feet let alone a tiny kitten. And it was a 90-degree day in August. Mike couldn’t have weighed a pound, and he hadn’t been weaned. I knew he’d dehydrate in a short time. Even though I was wearing shorts and flip-flops, I chased him into the woods. Greenbriers and gooseberry thorns tore at my legs, but I was terrified about that cat.

I meowed, and he meowed back. I followed those little sounds well into the woods but couldn’t see him. Then his meows seemed to be coming from every direction. Catbirds were mimicking me! So much for following his voice; I lost his trail.

I searched for an hour, but a 20-acre, dark, overgrown woods was impossible. The biggest problem was that the entire forest floor was covered with May Apples. Those interesting plants form a false floor across the woods. At the top of each tall stem is a wide and occlusive umbrella of leaves. Hidden under that umbrella is a large waxy flower. You could hide a cougar under those things, let alone a tiny kitten.

I searched until my legs were scratched and bleeding, then went home. I was overheated and thirsty. The first thing I did was try to call a friend to come help me search, although by now I was quite sure Mike had succumbed to the heat. I called everyone I knew, and no one was home. So I suited up in long pants and mosquito repellant.

I looked for another 2 hours in a fairly hysterical state, but 20 acres is 20 acres. I sat down in defeat and a big puddle of guilt. I had ripped a baby from its mother and sent it to its death in a few short minutes. I slunked home.

After supper, I realized I couldn’t go to bed knowing that cat was out there in the woods, possibly alive. Flashlight in hand, I started out again. Being in the woods at night was as creepy, as you might guess.

After an hour, I'd made it to the far north edge of the woods. I sat down on a log, defeated. For no particular reason I took a stick and lifted the leaf of a nearby May Apple. And there sat Mike, stretching to his full 6 inches tall. Since this seemed impossible, I thought the heat was getting to me.

The kitten was terrified and ready to bolt again. I tempted him with a little stick, moving it in front of his toes. He watched it warily, then could not resist; I know a little something about cats. He took one little swipe. Then another. He rolled onto his back. As soon as he was engaged, I grabbed and caught one little toe. He struggled mightily, biting, scratching, kicking. Nothing could have made me let go, even as he hollowed out my forearm. With a death-grip on that kitten. I walked down the driveway toward home, the most relieved person in the world. He’d been missing for 6 hours, but he seemed okay.

Mike up on the beam

Mike nee Lily slept on the pillow by my right ear that night, a place he occupied the rest of his life. He was a small cat, bowlegged and wiry. He was an entertaining fellow who ran across the beams in the rafters of the house and brought me little mouse heads that rolled down the deck in the wind.

Here’s to Mike. In a 20 acre patch of May Apples (that’s 12 square blocks), he chose the only one I looked under that night.

Mike-a very excellent cat