Driving on one of the county highways, a small brown dot rushed across the highway, barely missing the wheels of the truck ahead of me. I was busy, on my way to a nearby farm, Huck in the back seat, many errands ahead of me.
But there she was, that tiny wet face, alone. I pulled over about 10 feet from where she darted out. She was still in the same spot, at the ditch, squeeking. I squeeked back, and she came running.
"For God's sake, help me! I'm only 1 pound! My mother is dead, my siblings have vanished!"
I took her in my lap as I drove, but realized it was dangerous. She was quite calm, and sweet, but I drove a few miles back to the vet to borrow a cage for the ride home.
All the way I was thinking, "Lord, I do not need another cat, where will I put her, she's not ready to be on her own?"
Huck is a nursemaid, licking her at her command when she squeaks. She squeaks, she does not meow. She appears to have a sore on her bottom, but nothing serious. She was hungry. She will live in the studio, in Tucker's old triple decker condo cage for now, with a fire to warm her, a blind pug at her side, two chocolate labs at her command.
It felt rewarding to save her from sure death. As much as we don't need another cat in the barn, or the porch, or the house, she already has warmed my heart on a rainy day. And Huck's.
