It was the middle of the night and I was fast asleep at my campsite, when Scaredy Cat climbed up on my chest and started “meowing” loudly in my ear, waking me up. When I went to pet her I was surprised to find that her fur was quite wet and that it had started to rain.
I gave Scaredy Cat some quick pets to wipe off some of the water, dumped out two cans of cat food for the feral cat crew, and got my campsite all packed away before it got really wet.
So thanks to Scaredy Cat I narrowly avoided one of my worst potential disasters: Going to sleep drunk and getting hit by an unexpected rainstorm. By the time I rouse myself I’m usually soaking wet. My blankets are all wet. And my campsite is a big mud pit. Which I am wallowing in. In other words: A big fucking mess.
And it can get serious. Just about every year at least one homeless drunk on the scene will pass out. Get hit by an unexpected rainstorm. Lay there all night, unconscious, in a wet, cold rain puddle. Get hypothermia and die.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying Scaredy Cat’s “meowing” was particularly altruistic. I don’t think it was so much of a “Lassie to the rescue” kind of deal. As it was more like “Hey would you wake up and feed us our breakfast so we can get the hell out of this damn rain!”
But the affect was right on the mark. Which is all that counts. And the moral of the story is: You should always camp with feral cats. Another life-saving tip brought to you by your ole pal Ace Backwords.