In which I steal someone's dead cat and someone else's live dog

Three and a half years ago, my mom sold her house in Florida and moved permanently to Waycross. She brought eleven cats with her. Ten of them adapted with no problem. One of them, an adorable tortishell semi-feral named Whiskey did not. She was so panicked by the move that she ripped the siding off the window A/C unit (this was before mom had central heat and air installed) and escaped. We were unable to find her. Since then, my mom has carried Whiskey's picture in her (er, my) car, and even answered "found cat" ads in hopes of finding her. Just yesterday, she told me that a few months ago she had seen Whiskey on a road roughly a mile and a half from her house. She said that she'd gotten out and compared the markings of the cat with the photograph and they matched exactly. However, Whiskey had reverted to full feral mood, and ran off when my mom approached. I didn't really believe her; I thought it was wishful thinking.

This morning, as I was headed to mom's house to pick up Brin before going out to ride, I saw a dead tortishell lying in the road. It was exactly where mom said she'd seen Whiskey, and I knew it was her. I stopped the car, got out, scooped her up, and took her with me. [I do admit the absurdity in this; I know if anyone saw me stop, collect the dead cat, and then drive on, they must've thought I was completely bonkers.] I compared the cat with the photograph (still in the car), and it seemed to me that it was her. It seemed so horrible that she could've lived so close for three and a half years, only to be reunited with us (and her four siblings) in death.

Whiskey's photo and the dead cat in a box

I was feeling really bummed when I took Brin out to the land to feed/ride the horses. I was also musing on the sickly stray dogs which had shown up the other day, only to vanish... then I pulled up to the gate, and who should be on the other side of the fence but Beagley Dog! He and Brin played together like long lost friends, and then the two of them followed me and Honey out on our ride.

Beagley's back!!

Honey was wonderful. Unlike that cantakerous (yet beautiful) beast, Merlin, Honey was easy to catch and behaved fabulously throughout the ride. She, the dogs, and I didn't go too far. We rode to a nearby pond that my mom and I discovered when we were out riding the other day, took some pictures, and rode back. There's something really wonderful about being out in the woods on a beautiful day, on a horse, accompanied by dogs.

"Are you gonna ride me, or just stand there taking stupid pictures?"

Approaching the pond, with Brin


Pond!


More pond, with Beagley and Brin


Merlin was waiting for us when we returned.

When Brin and I got in the car to leave, Beagley Dog wanted to come, too. I put him back in the field and locked the gate, but the bars in the gate are spaced pretty far apart, and he was able to pop right out and start chasing me down the road. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him out there, all alone, without even Stinky Hound for company... so I stopped and he got in the car too. I brought him to my mom's house (where he promptly revealed his deathly fear of cats) and stuck him in the back yard with Blackie and Ursa. Initially, he was pretty intimidated by them, and slunk off into a corner with his tail between his legs. But less than an hour later, he and Blackie were playing together like old chums, and soon thereafter, I shot this photo of the three of them sleeping together in the sun:

Blackie, Ursa and Beagley

When mom came home from work, we set about burying Whiskey. I had dug the hole, and mom brought out the body. We decided to compare it with the photograph one last time... and found something I hadn't noticed before: one minor and yet very important discrepancy in their colorations. It wasn't Whiskey! (Although mom admits that it was the cat she'd seen recently.) So, it turns out that I stole someone's dead cat - although at least they'll just think she ran away, and won't be the ones finding her broken body on the road. We buried Not-Whiskey in our pet cemetery nonetheless.