In this instance, I knew that Big Kitten had stopped running away and was now shadowing us, far upslope from the trail we were taking. I also knew she would not come any closer.
“I guess maybe what we should do is take the dog with us when we go back to Durango,” one of the men said.
“And turn it in to animal control?”
“Probably.”
“But won’t they put her to sleep?”
“I don’t know, she’s such a pretty dog. Like, shepherd/rottweiler mix, maybe.”
I looked up at the word “dog,” but we were walking and no one dug into their pack for a treat.
“Really? You see rottie? I was thinking more bull terrier. Not the face, but the body.”
“She can sleep in your tent, Mitch,” Cap-man said with a laugh.
When the day began to fade, the men set up little cloth houses and put out a small metal box with flames and cooked some food, which they shared with me. I liked the cheese sauce best but ate everything, even some wet vegetables I didn’t care for, in order to encourage their behavior.
“Will the green beans make her fart?” one of them asked.
“Like I said—your tent.”
While we sat there the evening darkened. I could smell Big Kitten more strongly and knew she was close. What did she think about this change, now that I was lying at the feet of so many humans? This was the time of day when she was most restless—I would want to sleep and she would want to pounce on me and play. If I was too tired, she would ease out into the night so silently that only my nose told me what direction she had taken.
I was drowsily listening to the men talk, hoping to hear words I understood and that had to do with food, when the sharp tang of blood reached me. I instantly realized Big Kitten had successfully hunted something, even though I wasn’t there to help her. I pictured one of the small rodents she had recently managed to catch—that’s what it smelled like.
Big Kitten would want to return to me with the kill, and I would not be there.
I eased to my feet. Wagging, I went to each man in turn, greeting them and letting them pet me. This was what I did when I did Go to Work. People just felt better with a dog, and these men were no exception—they all brightened at the individual attention.
They were nice and they had fed me, but they belonged to the category of helpful people who were leading me away from Lucas. I had walked with them because I felt a powerful urge to do so, to be with people, and to eat dinner, but now I had to leave. I had to do Go Home.
“Good dog,” Cap-man told me, scratching my chest. I licked his face.
While the men were busy getting things out of their sacks, I turned and padded off into the night to find Big Kitten.
Fifteen
Over the next several days Big Kitten and I did not encounter any humans to feed us, though we crossed streams and pools often and were able to prevent thirst. The hunger became a constant pain, and I vainly inhaled, striving to pull in the intoxicating aroma of cooking meat, even though I knew that where there were no people there was no cooking.
Big Kitten followed me, but often wanted to stop and nap in the shade. More and more often, my empty stomach sapping me of strength, I would join her, unable to continue on without sleep.
We hunted, but Big Kitten was terrible at it. She couldn’t seem to sense the obvious scent of a small animal, though she did learn how to identify when I was tracking prey and would follow closely. Whenever I flushed something, though, Big Kitten did not help pursue it. Often she would just crouch, watching me exhaust myself, nearly invisible as she hid in the rocks. It was irritating and not good pack behavior. We needed to work together to catch food, but she did not understand that.
She was also afraid of water. A shallow stream seemed promising to both of us—shadowy fish flickered just beneath the surface—but after lunging at them repeatedly, all we got was wet, which I could tell disgusted Big Kitten. Then when she plunged too far into the flow and was briefly submerged, she retreated in a blind panic, scrambling up the bank and away, and that was the end of the hunt.
I could smell towns, but they felt far away, too far to do us any good. All I could think of was bins of discarded meats and back doors opening so people could hand out bacon and treats in sacks and bowls of food. And much farther away was home—even when its distinctive fragrance was not mingling in my nose, I had so thoroughly marked its direction that I could tell when we were aiming straight at it, or when our path took us on a tangent.
I was getting weak. I took frequent naps and slept through the night, not aware of Big Kitten leaving or returning.
I was so exhausted that when I saw a rabbit hop I almost didn’t react. Then I surged forward and it ran and turned and skittered and fled straight toward Big Kitten, who bounded forward with an outstretched paw and got it!
We fed ravenously, side by side.
The rabbit invigorated me, though the small meal oddly seemed to make my hunger worse, more painful. Early the next morning I awoke with some energy and then was astounded when fresh blood came to me on the breeze, blood mingled with Big Kitten’s scent.
When she returned to our nesting place, she was carrying an odd animal, a large rodent of a kind I had never seen before. The next morning she did the same, and a few mornings after that, she brought another rabbit.
I did not know where she was finding prey or how she was managing to catch it. But I was grateful for the help. I felt sure Lucas would want me to provide meals for Big Kitten, just as he fed the cats in the den. But without people, I was powerless.
When Big Kitten came to wrestle with me she was now larger and heavier than I was, but still deferred to me. I was the leader of our pack. She was so quick and nimble, so able to squirm away and to dart her paws at me, that I sometimes became irritated with her and would put my teeth on her throat while she lay on her back—not biting, but letting her know that, while she might be bigger, I was the dog of the pack. She would lie there submissively until I let her up, and then she would knock me on my back.
Kittens, in my experience, just do not know how to play properly.
Even with the occasional small animal, my hunger was constant and debilitating. Some days it was a struggle just to get to my feet. On one such morning, the air was cold, still, and dry. Big Kitten was shadowing me and abruptly halted in a depression between two fallen trees. I turned back, not to urge her on, but to lie next to her. I settled down with a groan, prepared to sleep the rest of the day.