What’s with these Canadian Cats?

After my night of camping on Blueberry Hill, I pushed out to the road to head north. It was mellow riding. I was tempted by a little ferry that goes across St. Johns River, but it wasn’t really going in the right direction. The fall colors are really out now. Nature is a show-off.

Somehow I didn’t make it quite as far as I’d expected. That always happens. Around Blissville, I started looking for someplace to camp. I rolled over a bridge and there was a dirt track off to the right. Looked perfect. I walked down, bushwhacked through some shrubbery, and found my little hidden away spot.

Around 10 it started to rain. Of course, since I hadn’t put on the rainfly. I got out in the now-pitch black forest. Shining my headlamp around, I saw two glowing eyes looking back. They were low to the ground, so, not a zombie. And they didn’t shy away from the light. Somehow, I knew it was a cat.

Not five minutes later I had a little orange and white cat in my tent.

I decided his name was Jack the Pumpkin Cat. Jack was not shy at all. He made himself at home and immediately shed about a billion hairs on my clothes.

I left the tent door open so he could leave if he wanted. But he wanted to stay and lay on my head and purr all night.

In the morning I took my time over coffee and oatmeal because Jack was really cozy and cuddly. Who can move when the cat has found the perfect seat? When I finally started packing up, my orange kitty wandered away. He caught a mouse in about a minute.

I was hoping he would wander off and not make me sad when I left. But when I started pushing the bike back to the road, Jack came streaking out of the brush like a little orange cheetah. He followed me back onto the highway and ran after me doing the sad meow, right next to the traffic. Terrified that he would get smooshed, I scooped him up for one more cuddle. Then, as gently as possible, I tossed him into a bush and pedaled away as fast as I could, crying and afraid to look back.

Oh, the SADS!

I have to stop having these kitty cuddle one-night stands. They’re breaking my heart. I’m pretty sure Jack belonged to one of the farms nearby. No wild kitty is that clean and friendly. I’m sure all the tears and sadness were only on my part, and that cat just liked my warm, unmoving lap. He wasn’t even hungry. No starving cat turns down a tortilla.

Someday, when I’m done traveling, I’m going to adopt a whole bunch of cats and marry them.