Kelly arrived at the OO Tuesday afternoon, and after parking, let her Golden Lab Zoey out of the camper to get to know Morena. After a few minutes of mutual dog sniffing, I showed Kelly to the camp bathroom and gave her an OO sticker with our WiFi password on it. I noticed she had a litter box just inside the door of the camper but I hadn't seen any cat yet. When I asked her, she went in, poked through the blankets on the bed and came out mystified. Hank was NOT in the camper!
We searched the yard, thinking he may have climbed out while the dogs were getting acquainted. Kelly said Hank was 15 years old and no longer able to run and jump very well, so we were sure we'd find him nearby. But no. She sat dejectedly on her tailgate thinking about how on earth she could have let Hank get away - particularly if it had been that morning as she was packing up at La Malinche, 7 hours northeast of Oaxaca! She decided as a good Mom, she had to go back and search the area around her camp there, so I volunteered to go with.
Our Wednesday morning trip to La Malinche was aborted; just as we were approaching the last retorno before the cuota to Mexico City, Calvin called to say he'd seen a grey cat in our kitchen and though our Junebug had scared him out into the yard, he was in our bananas, safe within our walls. We hurried back and though we searched and searched our yard, the yard next door and all around the block, no grey cat was in sight. Discouraging.
Thursday, Kelly drafted up a poster while we waited for Hank to find his way back into our yard. We took them around the neighbourhood, and who'da thunkit, but our next door neighbour had sighted a grey cat in the vacant lot on the other side of them. A quick search - in the dusk - turned up nothing, but we asked them to watch out again the next morning and let us know if he showed up again. That night, though, Kelly herself caught a glimpse of a grey cat scooting through our yard, but we didn't get him. She slept with her camper door open in case he came back and took a notion to climb on in.
Friday morning, no cat had come home, but about mid-morning the next door neighbour came over all excited about seeing the grey cat again in the vacant lot. We ran to see, and when we had him trapped enough to get a good look, it was not Hank. Devastating.
So we quickly packed the truck up and headed out of town again, determined to at least give it a good old college try at searching in the last known place where Kelly had had Hank. We got to La Malinche about 4:30 Friday and drove immediately to her previous campsite. There was about an hour of daylight left, and we searched in the rain around her camp, then took our posters to the Centro Vacacional and the restaurant/store just before the entrance.
It was a chilly, rainy night, we were pretty tired, Kelly was particularly stressed thinking what a bad Mom she was letting her cat escape. She cursed that grey cat in Tule that had kept us from returning to La Malinche on Wednesday; now Hank had been "lost" for 4 days. Depressing.
We were visited three times that evening/night by a police patrol, who tried to encourage us to move over to the Centro Vacacional but we explained why we preferred to stay right there. They kept checking on us, knowing we were two women and a dog, stubborn but still needing to feel safe. In the morning, the patrol arrived again, and when we told them the story, they recognized Hank's photo on the poster; they had seen a cat like that walking along the road about 200 m farther up the road, near a ravine, just the afternoon before. We scarfed some breakfast, paced out 200 m and started searching and calling in earnest, buoyed by this latest sighting. As we walked through the woods, calling Hank, Hank, Hank, Here kitty kitty kitty, we discussed cat psychology and whether he would really walk away from camp instead of in the direction Kelly had driven when she left. We combed that 200 m, both sides of the road, until we came to the ravine and looked dismally at the abyss....
Before lunch, we walked back toward camp, and continued on past another km or so to leave a poster with a man who lived at a farmhouse near where Kelly had camped. He was sympathetic but had seen nothing. He promised to contact us if he did see anything. So we walked back to camp, covering now-familiar territory, stopping to appreciate the wildflowers, a distraction from the growing doubt that Hank was nowhere to be found in either direction. Over lunch we discussed our options and decided to search again for the afternoon, stay the night and leave the next day at noon at the latest. It would be Sunday and though Kelly had booked Spanish lessons in Puerto Escondido for Monday morning, she'd contacted the school and explained why she had to delay.
Refuelled, we set out again, covering ground to the ravine surprisingly quickly. We were looking for a needle in a haystack, a moving target. Who knew if Hank could hear us calling, if he had the strength to meow back? After 4 days, how much ground had he covered, was he walking in circles, had he holed up from the cold and rain and we'd passed his hiding spot??? We were torn with doubt and anxiety, tempted to pray for a glimpse or clue, not believing he could still be there. We'd heard the coyotes in the night.
And then I glanced left and recognized the huge green eyes from the poster. "It's him" I called softly, not wanting to scare away what must be a mirage. Zoey the dog bounded over and I hoped she wouldn't burst the bubble... And then Kelly ran over and scooped Hank in her arms, crying, "It IS him!" and I went over and hugged them both, Hank a little dazed at the fuss and we cat-hunters blubbering like babies over him. The walk to the truck was like levitating, we were in shock and amazement that we had got him and in one piece, none the worse for the wear. Hank tucked right into Kelly's hoodie, safely zipped in, and then back in the cab, he devoured a dish of crunchies like there was no tomorrow, then washed them down from his water dish while we packed up the camper to drive home. He rode on Kelly's lap, calmly snoozing as if nothing had happened. We got back about 10 pm and our whole campground greeted us triumphantly: Calvin had called as we were at the monument on the north side of Oaxaca and could read the news in my voice. It was a good day.
I knew I would find him, I knew it would be me who saw him first. I knew he was not lost, he was waiting for us to come back for him. At times the forest seemed so big, offering so many hiding places that to actually find him seemed an impossibility but I had put it out there and trusted that the universe would bring us together. And so it did. Call it fate, luck or divine intervention, it doesn't matter: Kelly and Hank were happily reunited and all is right with the world.
We searched the yard, thinking he may have climbed out while the dogs were getting acquainted. Kelly said Hank was 15 years old and no longer able to run and jump very well, so we were sure we'd find him nearby. But no. She sat dejectedly on her tailgate thinking about how on earth she could have let Hank get away - particularly if it had been that morning as she was packing up at La Malinche, 7 hours northeast of Oaxaca! She decided as a good Mom, she had to go back and search the area around her camp there, so I volunteered to go with.
Our Wednesday morning trip to La Malinche was aborted; just as we were approaching the last retorno before the cuota to Mexico City, Calvin called to say he'd seen a grey cat in our kitchen and though our Junebug had scared him out into the yard, he was in our bananas, safe within our walls. We hurried back and though we searched and searched our yard, the yard next door and all around the block, no grey cat was in sight. Discouraging.
Thursday, Kelly drafted up a poster while we waited for Hank to find his way back into our yard. We took them around the neighbourhood, and who'da thunkit, but our next door neighbour had sighted a grey cat in the vacant lot on the other side of them. A quick search - in the dusk - turned up nothing, but we asked them to watch out again the next morning and let us know if he showed up again. That night, though, Kelly herself caught a glimpse of a grey cat scooting through our yard, but we didn't get him. She slept with her camper door open in case he came back and took a notion to climb on in.
Friday morning, no cat had come home, but about mid-morning the next door neighbour came over all excited about seeing the grey cat again in the vacant lot. We ran to see, and when we had him trapped enough to get a good look, it was not Hank. Devastating.
So we quickly packed the truck up and headed out of town again, determined to at least give it a good old college try at searching in the last known place where Kelly had had Hank. We got to La Malinche about 4:30 Friday and drove immediately to her previous campsite. There was about an hour of daylight left, and we searched in the rain around her camp, then took our posters to the Centro Vacacional and the restaurant/store just before the entrance.
It was a chilly, rainy night, we were pretty tired, Kelly was particularly stressed thinking what a bad Mom she was letting her cat escape. She cursed that grey cat in Tule that had kept us from returning to La Malinche on Wednesday; now Hank had been "lost" for 4 days. Depressing.
We were visited three times that evening/night by a police patrol, who tried to encourage us to move over to the Centro Vacacional but we explained why we preferred to stay right there. They kept checking on us, knowing we were two women and a dog, stubborn but still needing to feel safe. In the morning, the patrol arrived again, and when we told them the story, they recognized Hank's photo on the poster; they had seen a cat like that walking along the road about 200 m farther up the road, near a ravine, just the afternoon before. We scarfed some breakfast, paced out 200 m and started searching and calling in earnest, buoyed by this latest sighting. As we walked through the woods, calling Hank, Hank, Hank, Here kitty kitty kitty, we discussed cat psychology and whether he would really walk away from camp instead of in the direction Kelly had driven when she left. We combed that 200 m, both sides of the road, until we came to the ravine and looked dismally at the abyss....
Before lunch, we walked back toward camp, and continued on past another km or so to leave a poster with a man who lived at a farmhouse near where Kelly had camped. He was sympathetic but had seen nothing. He promised to contact us if he did see anything. So we walked back to camp, covering now-familiar territory, stopping to appreciate the wildflowers, a distraction from the growing doubt that Hank was nowhere to be found in either direction. Over lunch we discussed our options and decided to search again for the afternoon, stay the night and leave the next day at noon at the latest. It would be Sunday and though Kelly had booked Spanish lessons in Puerto Escondido for Monday morning, she'd contacted the school and explained why she had to delay.
Refuelled, we set out again, covering ground to the ravine surprisingly quickly. We were looking for a needle in a haystack, a moving target. Who knew if Hank could hear us calling, if he had the strength to meow back? After 4 days, how much ground had he covered, was he walking in circles, had he holed up from the cold and rain and we'd passed his hiding spot??? We were torn with doubt and anxiety, tempted to pray for a glimpse or clue, not believing he could still be there. We'd heard the coyotes in the night.
And then I glanced left and recognized the huge green eyes from the poster. "It's him" I called softly, not wanting to scare away what must be a mirage. Zoey the dog bounded over and I hoped she wouldn't burst the bubble... And then Kelly ran over and scooped Hank in her arms, crying, "It IS him!" and I went over and hugged them both, Hank a little dazed at the fuss and we cat-hunters blubbering like babies over him. The walk to the truck was like levitating, we were in shock and amazement that we had got him and in one piece, none the worse for the wear. Hank tucked right into Kelly's hoodie, safely zipped in, and then back in the cab, he devoured a dish of crunchies like there was no tomorrow, then washed them down from his water dish while we packed up the camper to drive home. He rode on Kelly's lap, calmly snoozing as if nothing had happened. We got back about 10 pm and our whole campground greeted us triumphantly: Calvin had called as we were at the monument on the north side of Oaxaca and could read the news in my voice. It was a good day.
I knew I would find him, I knew it would be me who saw him first. I knew he was not lost, he was waiting for us to come back for him. At times the forest seemed so big, offering so many hiding places that to actually find him seemed an impossibility but I had put it out there and trusted that the universe would bring us together. And so it did. Call it fate, luck or divine intervention, it doesn't matter: Kelly and Hank were happily reunited and all is right with the world.
