28 - Sanctuary

I recently walked with the dogs at our cottage. I saw some paw prints across the snow, too small for a dog, plus there were no human footprints alongside. “A cat", I thought, and started to follow them. 

A number of days prior I had received a call from Bob at Ghost Station—a gas station and convenience store near our cottage. He wanted to know if I had found my cat. I had lost hope of finding Jazmin, who went missing from our cottage in the middle of August, three-and-a-half months ago. 

“No,” I said, “we haven’t found our cat.” 

“Well, there has been a cat out here periodically that looks like the cat on your poster,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“It has the same striped tail. I just saw it go under the deck. I’ve tried to call it, and it meows at me, but then hides whenever I get near.”

That doesn’t sound like Jazmin, who loves a good belly rub from a stranger. “Wow. Is she there now?”

“Yes, I just saw her.”

“Okay, I’ll head out and take a look. It’ll take me about forty minutes to get there.” 

I parked in the lot out front, and went around the back of the station, just as Bob had told me to do. I had brought a bag of cat treats, and rattled them as I called out, “Jazmin. Heeyyy Jazmin. Come on Jazzie.” A man came out of a trailer parked in the attached camp ground. I noticed that the campground was half full, which struck me as odd at the beginning of December. People lived here?

“Are you looking for your cat?” Bob said. 

“Yes I am,” I answered.
“Just a bit ago, she went past the little cabin, and over the edge,” he said. 

“Oh, okay, I’ll just look around for awhile then.” 

I went to the edge of the embankment, and it looked pretty steep. I found a tree branch bent at the angle of a seat and sat there. The light of a sun ray reached through the tall fir trees, and landed on me. I called out for Jazmin every three to five seconds. After a few minutes of that, I skidded down the hill, grabbing branches of bushes to stabilize my descent. 

As I dropped down into the valley, no sounds of human existence occurred, except my own breath, and careful steps. I came to a wooden hut that backed into the hill, no bigger than a hobbit home. The door was missing, and green forest mould was the only inhabitant. I found a path—a wild life trail—and followed it as it traversed across the hill. “Jazmin, are you here?” I called out, again and again. 

I could hear water flowing in the distance, and headed toward it, water being my favourite thing. At the bottom of the valley, where two equally steep hills met, a three-foot wide creek ambled over fallen logs, and partially frozen ice shapes. 

Jazmin, no ordinary cat, would enjoy it here. She loved the outdoors more than anything else. When I jingled the dogs leash to go for a walk, she appeared out of nowhere to join us. Whether we walked for twenty minutes, or forty, she accompanied us, sometimes panting like a long distance runner. At our cottage, she refused to come in for weeks at a time; a voracious hunter, she left gifts at both front and back doors every single night. When I stepped on the back deck with my morning coffee and journal, she met me there. She jumped into my lap, put her paws on my chest, and nose-butted my face, while meowing her happiness. My heart purred as well. 

As I wandered across the soft, needle-covered ground, surrounded by nature’s cat trees, I realized it was the perfect place for Jazmin. I left the peaceful sound of the creek behind, and climbed up the steep hill. On my way up, I noticed cave-like hideouts created by roots and rocks, as well as holes of all sizes, burrowed into the ground. A plethora of rodents for the choosing. 

I didn’t find Jazmin in the forest sanctuary, nor did I find her when I followed the cat paw prints across fields, and under bushes at the cottage. I don’t know if she is still “out there”. But, if she is, I could wish for no better place for her to reside.