Another Night-Riding Lost-Cat Story

January 5, 2005

It was about 9:30, and I was sailing down the long hill on Big Saguaro, right where it splashes down into the lowest wash on the trail. Limp Bizkit on the mp3 player, Kila rocketing along off my back wheel, getting fired up for a long climb. I spotted a glitter, probably trail trash. But no, there were 2 dots, it was eyes. Too big for a mouse, too small for a coyote...bobcat? No, housecat, with a collar! Kila spotted the cat, and then...well I'd never actually seen a cat do this, but that cat went all in. Launched itself on the dog, fangs in her nose, 4 claws on the snout. Looked like those things from Aliens. I jumped off my bike and grabbed the cat off Kila's face, it sunk its fangs and claws into my hands. One good thing about riding in the cold, I wore the full-fingered gloves. I flung it into the sand, and we both stopped to gather our thoughts for awhile.

The cat didn't run, it just sat there and growled in this low\high scream. It was either exhausted, wanted to be helped, or was just waiting to get dead. The cat was thin, and we'd just had 2 days of winter rainstorms. It must have have been out here a while and with the storms was probably in bad shape. How did it get here? 3 miles from any houses, through rugged desert, at the bottom of this wash? I sure couldn't leave it, but the throbbing in my hand and blood seeping through my glove made me think again. We were over 2 miles from the trailhead, and every route involved a climb over a rocky, cliffy hill. Cell phone service? No way, not down here next to the mountain.

It wouldnt shut up...hissing and moaning and spitting at me. It was freaked out by the dog, and with all my lights and gear on I looked to her a lot like Starship Troopers. "Ok," I thought, "I'll give you one shot you ungrateful little trail rat...cause I appreciate that we met under some adverse circumstances, and I know that you don't know that I am your last best hope."

So I took off the helmet and turned off the halogens so she could get a look at me. "C'mon you wretch, I have a long history of saving desperate cats, so be nice!" I dangled a shirt in front of her, and she didnt swipe, and I managed to slip the dog's leash around its neck. She was too wiped out to fight, but there was no way I was picking her up. I pulled for a few yards, figuring either she'd walk, she'd choke and pass out, or she'd get drug and give up. It was the latter, and soon enough I had her in my arm. Now cats, as a general rule, don't fancy being picked up, it was not getting near my face, and I liked my bike a lot more than her. So, I cradled her in the left arm, got the Blur in my right, and trudged along to high ground.

The cat was hurting, and would roll in and out of deliriousness. I could feel every vertebrae in its back, and her hipbones felt like rock on my hand. The only happy one was Kila, who's hour-long ride was getting much much longer. Got signal just after 10pm, called Beckie, formulated a plan...and was feeling so good that I managed to ride 1-handed to the 4-way intersection with the cat in one arm. The walk up the ridge was ugly and unpleasant, The Blur got another scar when I dropped it on a stretch of ledge. But I figured if the cat could keep on managing not to die in my arm, the least I could do was walk on and quit whining. Met Beckie 20 minutes later at the peak on the Ridge Trail, still a mile from the trailhead. We loaded the cat into a backpack, and headed out.

At home, the cat seemed ok. She was maybe 6 lbs, and his collar had an inch of slack. She ate, then crawled into the back of the closet and slept.

Holla if you want to adopt her.