[at-l] NH news story

[Felix J]

Mark Hudson wrote:
> http://www.wmur.com/news/13891971/detail.html
>
> I was going to say let me see your cat rescue you, but then I realized that
> your cat wouldn't be dumb enough to get lost with you... <g>
there's no way for you to say that without me saying...via 'cut and 
paste'...this:

She had never heard of the Appalachian Trail, let alone been on it. That 
didn’t stop Lizzie from taking to the footpath like a child to a swing 
set. She set out on her first section hike with her eyes wide open and 
her ears pinned back. There was no stopping her.

 

“Hold on, Lizzie,” I yelled. She looked back briefly, then continued up 
the trail. She found a tree that, for some reason, she felt she should 
pull some bark from. When she heard me getting close, she turned and 
ignored me. It was obvious that she intended to stay in front of me this 
afternoon.

 

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. We were making pretty 
good time this way. Plus, I didn’t have to be involved in one of the 
countless one-sided conversations that had become a major part of our 
relationship.

 

As I watched her scurrying along, sometimes several feet off the trail, 
I couldn’t help but notice her grace and beauty. She was curious about 
every trailside noise and eagerly went to investigate it. As soon as she 
heard my footsteps, though, it was back to the trail and staying in 
front of me.

 

You see I had angered Lizzie. Actually, I had angered her twice. During 
lunch, before we had even hit the trail, two things happened that more 
or less insured that I’d be watching Lizzie from a distance. They may 
sound trivial now. But, at the time, to Lizzie, they were pretty important.

 

First, while filling our water bottles, I had turned the spigot on too 
much. Water came out with such force that it knocked the bottle from my 
hand, and splashed Lizzie. She was soaked. Then, while eating, I felt 
that she had enough of her own food to not need some of mine. Something 
as simple as a little water and not sharing a can of tuna and I was 
condemned to an afternoon of hiking alone. An afternoon of being forced 
to watch my sexy hiking partner from behind. She played the game too well.

 

I knew, however, that within a few tenths of a mile we would be at Pine 
Swamp Branch Shelter, one of the mousiest shelters along the AT. This, I 
figured, would be my chance to gain her favor again. This would be where 
she would forget about tuna fish and remember me as the guy who is 
always looking out for her. A true friend.

 

The only time she let me near her was when her attention was taken by a 
pileated-woodpecker. I don’t think she’d ever seen a bird that large 
from that close. The woodpecker looked like a chicken dancing on the 
side of a poplar tree. She was nearly startled by the bird, and then me. 
When she realized I was standing next to her, she jumped. She nearly ran.

 

Her pace picked up once she saw the shelter. I stopped to watch her 
enter the structure, making sure everything was okay. I could see her 
looking our night’s resting-place over with a keen eye. Every corner, 
every cranny, was checked.

 

 

 

“How’s it look?” I asked as I walked in.

She gave me a blank look and walked around the corner and to the back of 
the shelter. I got our bedding ready for the night. I could hear her 
walking around in the leaves. It made me smile wondering what she was 
looking for, and if she found it.

 

I gathered firewood from the woods around the shelter. I would 
occasionally see her walking around, looking under the bunks, or in the 
cracks of the rocks, for mice or anything else. She didn’t know I was 
watching her, but she still made me smile.

 

As darkness settled in, so did her paranoia. Every noise got a look from 
her inquisitive eye. She was still milling around, silent as ever, as I 
lit the fire. The flames turned the shelter walls orange with warm light 
dancing around.

 

She sat on the bottom bunk on the opposite side of the shelter. We both 
watched the fire flicker and pop. I watched the reflection of the flame 
in her eyes. She was beautiful.

 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” I said as I put the last of the wood on the 
fire. I got into my sleeping bag and got comfortable. I laid and watched 
her for a while. Her eyes moved back and forth like a kid watching 
fireworks on the Fourth of July. She looked at every movement, every 
shadow, and every noise.

 

I was just dozing off when she got into bed. It seemed like it took her 
forever to get situated. But, then, it always does. Finally she snuggled 
up against me. She started purring when I reached out and scratched her 
head. She touched my lips with her paw. I knew she couldn’t stay mad at me.