Vacation Cat

By Ava Siemens

The cat is the only animal which accepts the comforts but rejects the bondage of domesticity.

~Georges-Louis Leclerc de Buffon

A few years ago, my husband Jeff and I decided to take a trip to the Queen Charlotte Islands off the coast of British Columbia. It was going to be an adventure — complete with a seven-hour road trip, an eight-hour ferry ride, and a stay in a no-frills cabin once we got there. Our two cats would have to sit this one out, as their idea of roughing it meant not being allowed on the bed. It was always difficult to leave Minnie and Spookie behind, although we knew they would be well looked after.

On our first day, Jeff was outside our cabin chopping wood for the first morning fire, and as I sat on the step, I saw a blur of orange out of the corner of my eye. Under the stairs, two yellow eyes peered up at me. I called out, but once the cat knew that he had been seen, he scurried back underneath where he had appeared. I was intrigued, since we had been told that there were a number of stray cats in the woods nearby. We brought in the wood and decided to leave the sliding doors open to see if the orange shadow might return. It wasn't long before he walked in and made his way gingerly to a warm spot in front of the woodstove. While grooming himself, he kept one eye on both of us, but once he was content with his appearance, he wandered over to the couch where we were sitting and jumped up. We froze. Carefully he found his way between us and lay down. He was a shorthaired cat and when he moved we saw the outlines of his muscles in his sleek body.

That first evening, when I attempted to pick him up, he bit my finger. Not enough to draw blood, but a gentle warning. It was then that we decided he would be known as Bitey.

Bitey was a hunter and a fierce one. And yet, though his claws were sharp, his affection for us was overwhelming. He would climb up to my chest until he was eye level with me and stare deep into my eyes. We fed him, but soon found out that he did not need us for his meals. Disappearing for a short time, he would return with a small bird in his mouth, dropping it on the floor at our feet. When neither of us accepted his treat, he picked it back up and took it outside to eat it under the steps.

Bitey followed us everywhere. When we hiked the beach, he trailed behind, vocal the entire time. Why come along, we thought, only to make such noise? Did he think we were leaving? On the way back, he would run ahead and be there to meet us back at the cabin. That first night, he found a space on the bed and slept there through the night. At first I feared that he might have fleas, or even worse, but his purring won me over.

From then on, we had a constant companion at our feet. He would leave the warmth of the bed early in the morning to hunt and then return when we were about to have our breakfast. He groomed himself by the fire while we planned our day. In the evenings we built fires amongst the dunes and watched the sun go down. Bitey would lie just out of the light from the fire, his tail flicking back and forth. The week passed quickly and our hearts were heavy knowing that we would soon have to return to the working grind. Of course we were excited to get back home and see our own two cats, but it was going to be difficult to part ways with our new friend.

On our last night, as he was nestled on our bed we whispered about how we could take him home with us. He would settle in, learn to be an indoor cat. We decided that we couldn't leave him. The last day arrived and we began to pack and load the truck. Bitey sat on the steps for a while and then disappeared. When it was finally time to go, Bitey had made his own decision. He was gone.

The following year, we decided to head back to the island for our holidays. This time, we planned to stay for two weeks and were eager to get to our destination. We both wondered aloud what the chances were of seeing Bitey again. It was a harsh life for a cat on the wet island. There were many dangers.

This time we took a small container of cat food with us just in case. We spent the first day chopping kindling, unpacking our supplies and making plans for the next day's activities. We watched for Bitey but there was no sign of him. Later in the evening, as the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, a glimpse of orange passed in front of the doors. We had left them open just a little, hoping for company. He hung back until we called to him. Then, as if he knew the routine by heart, he followed us inside the open door and settled down beside the fire. He didn't leave us to go and hunt that night.

Bitey stayed with us for the next two weeks, only leaving for his morning hunt. He brought many gifts for us, always leaving them outside on the steps. On the second-to-last day we were horrified to discover that he had brought us a squirrel. Not wanting to upset him, we stifled our screams of disgust until he took it back outside with him and proceeded to devour it under the stairs. Once again the time was upon us to say our goodbyes. Bitey watched for a moment, and then, without a backwards glance, he was gone. My heart was heavy as we pulled away, but I knew Bitey was not ours to take home. He would not be happy away from this life he had. It was perfect for him.

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