Tooner
Newly Enlightened
I went fishing the other day.
I'm not really a fishing nut like my friends are. On Monday Jerry announced that he was going fishing the coming weekend. By Thursday he had assembled a motley crew of friends that were going. Jerry, Tom and Irv headed over to our vacation property in the high desert of central Oregon Wednesday and Thursday. Jerry called me on Thursday and talked me into coming over. I wasn't able to get time off from work so I wouldn't be able to leave home until Friday night after work. For me it was going to be a quick trip, stay the night, do the morning fish, and then go back home.
Thursday I picked up my fishing license, dusted off my fishing gear, and packed the truck. By Friday I was looking forward to heading out later that night. I got home, threw some beers in the cooler, kissed my wife goodbye, and hit the road.
It is about a 3 hour trip in the truck to the property that we co-own with Jerry. I drove without the radio on, preferring instead to listen to the sweet sound of the big diesel motor's steady thrum as it powered the truck effortlessly up and over Mt. Hood.
When I arrived at about 8:00 pm I pulled into the gravel drive and got out. Jerry's motor home was lit up and the generator was running. I went inside and no one was there. I got the chicken wings and potato salad I bought on the way and washed it down with an ice cold beer. Thinking that perhaps they were down the road at Tom's place, (As he probably would have been nominated to the honary position of camp kitchen ***** in my abscence.) I headed out to the truck to go look for them. As I was pulling out, they pulled in.
They had been anchored up in the secret fishing hole that is about a 45-minute ride in Jerry's jet sled from the marina. When it started to get dark the batteries in his boat were too dead to crank over the big inboard, so they had to limp back on the little 10-horse outboard. It was a starless night and they had a tough time negotiating all the twists and turns. The marina is empty this time of year and there are no lights. They passed it at first without knowing it. Then doubled back once they realized it. If I had been with them there would have been flashlights.
We drank a few beers and talked about their big adventure, fishing, boats, and of course women. Jerry was given the requisite amount of crap for not taking better care of his batteries. I thoroughly enjoyed the easy conversation and camaraderie of the evening. We talked about taking the batteries out the motor home for the boat, but voted instead to just cancel the morning fish.
When I awoke the next morning it was cold and snowing lightly. I was glad we cancelled fishing. I heard some wild turkeys gobbling in the distance. I laid snug in bed until I heard Jerry's generator crank up. I got up seeking that first cup of coffee that would be soon to follow. We drank coffee and chatted inside the warm motor home.
A herd of about 30 or so deer slowly meandered across the property. Grazing amongst the scrub, sage, and juniper. They are not afraid of our presence. I went outside to pee and laughed out loud as a big doe let loose with a long and loud rapid-fire staccato fart. Guilt or even acknowledgement of this social faux pas not showing upon it's poker face.
We went down to the marina to retrieve the boat. I got out of the truck and was scanning the shoreline when I thought I heard a cat meowing. I listened and looked, but finally decided it was just the noisy gulls that I had heard. After loading the boat onto the trailer and as we were heading back Jerry mentioned that he "felt bad for that poor cat." He had seen it on the docks and reported that it was in bad shape.
I don't need another cat, I have two already, but I cannot leave a poor little animal to starve to death in the cold in good conscience. When we got back to camp I rummaged around in the storage shed and came up with a cardboard box to put the cat in. I drove back down to the marina. I wandered amongst the houseboats that were sitting high and dry on cribbing for the winter, softly calling for the kitty. I checked the docks, no cat. I finally heard some faint meowing, I followed the sound to the little marina store that is still shuttered up for the winter, and will not open for another month or two. Under the porch I see it peering out at me. I bend down and speak softly to it.
Even though I had been told that it was a sad case, I wasn't really ready for what crawled out. A Persian type cat. So skinny, and its long hair totally matted in feces. It looked and smelled half dead. Yet it was purring loudly, and eagerly craved my touch. I felt sick to my stomach looking at it, for it was the worst thing I have ever seen. The poor thing had to be in pain from the matted hair, not to mention the hunger it must have been feeling. I load it in the box, sickened yet again by how little it weighs, and head home.
I called my wife on the way and gave her the story. She called around and found a vet with Saturday hours to see it. When I got back to town I dropped it at the vet's office. He called back later and reported that it wasn't as bad as I had feared. It was severely malnourished but would recover. It had to be shaved of course. We gave it all the vaccines and tested for leukemia. I went to get it later that afternoon. It ate and drank heartily upon arrival home.
It looks like some bizarre alien. They shaved all it's hair except for the head, tail and feet. It is such a sweet and gentle little cat. I cannot fathom the A-hole that would abandon such a creature to die a horrible death like that.
I may pass on the next fishing trip.
I'm not really a fishing nut like my friends are. On Monday Jerry announced that he was going fishing the coming weekend. By Thursday he had assembled a motley crew of friends that were going. Jerry, Tom and Irv headed over to our vacation property in the high desert of central Oregon Wednesday and Thursday. Jerry called me on Thursday and talked me into coming over. I wasn't able to get time off from work so I wouldn't be able to leave home until Friday night after work. For me it was going to be a quick trip, stay the night, do the morning fish, and then go back home.
Thursday I picked up my fishing license, dusted off my fishing gear, and packed the truck. By Friday I was looking forward to heading out later that night. I got home, threw some beers in the cooler, kissed my wife goodbye, and hit the road.
It is about a 3 hour trip in the truck to the property that we co-own with Jerry. I drove without the radio on, preferring instead to listen to the sweet sound of the big diesel motor's steady thrum as it powered the truck effortlessly up and over Mt. Hood.
When I arrived at about 8:00 pm I pulled into the gravel drive and got out. Jerry's motor home was lit up and the generator was running. I went inside and no one was there. I got the chicken wings and potato salad I bought on the way and washed it down with an ice cold beer. Thinking that perhaps they were down the road at Tom's place, (As he probably would have been nominated to the honary position of camp kitchen ***** in my abscence.) I headed out to the truck to go look for them. As I was pulling out, they pulled in.
They had been anchored up in the secret fishing hole that is about a 45-minute ride in Jerry's jet sled from the marina. When it started to get dark the batteries in his boat were too dead to crank over the big inboard, so they had to limp back on the little 10-horse outboard. It was a starless night and they had a tough time negotiating all the twists and turns. The marina is empty this time of year and there are no lights. They passed it at first without knowing it. Then doubled back once they realized it. If I had been with them there would have been flashlights.
We drank a few beers and talked about their big adventure, fishing, boats, and of course women. Jerry was given the requisite amount of crap for not taking better care of his batteries. I thoroughly enjoyed the easy conversation and camaraderie of the evening. We talked about taking the batteries out the motor home for the boat, but voted instead to just cancel the morning fish.
When I awoke the next morning it was cold and snowing lightly. I was glad we cancelled fishing. I heard some wild turkeys gobbling in the distance. I laid snug in bed until I heard Jerry's generator crank up. I got up seeking that first cup of coffee that would be soon to follow. We drank coffee and chatted inside the warm motor home.
A herd of about 30 or so deer slowly meandered across the property. Grazing amongst the scrub, sage, and juniper. They are not afraid of our presence. I went outside to pee and laughed out loud as a big doe let loose with a long and loud rapid-fire staccato fart. Guilt or even acknowledgement of this social faux pas not showing upon it's poker face.
We went down to the marina to retrieve the boat. I got out of the truck and was scanning the shoreline when I thought I heard a cat meowing. I listened and looked, but finally decided it was just the noisy gulls that I had heard. After loading the boat onto the trailer and as we were heading back Jerry mentioned that he "felt bad for that poor cat." He had seen it on the docks and reported that it was in bad shape.
I don't need another cat, I have two already, but I cannot leave a poor little animal to starve to death in the cold in good conscience. When we got back to camp I rummaged around in the storage shed and came up with a cardboard box to put the cat in. I drove back down to the marina. I wandered amongst the houseboats that were sitting high and dry on cribbing for the winter, softly calling for the kitty. I checked the docks, no cat. I finally heard some faint meowing, I followed the sound to the little marina store that is still shuttered up for the winter, and will not open for another month or two. Under the porch I see it peering out at me. I bend down and speak softly to it.
Even though I had been told that it was a sad case, I wasn't really ready for what crawled out. A Persian type cat. So skinny, and its long hair totally matted in feces. It looked and smelled half dead. Yet it was purring loudly, and eagerly craved my touch. I felt sick to my stomach looking at it, for it was the worst thing I have ever seen. The poor thing had to be in pain from the matted hair, not to mention the hunger it must have been feeling. I load it in the box, sickened yet again by how little it weighs, and head home.
I called my wife on the way and gave her the story. She called around and found a vet with Saturday hours to see it. When I got back to town I dropped it at the vet's office. He called back later and reported that it wasn't as bad as I had feared. It was severely malnourished but would recover. It had to be shaved of course. We gave it all the vaccines and tested for leukemia. I went to get it later that afternoon. It ate and drank heartily upon arrival home.
It looks like some bizarre alien. They shaved all it's hair except for the head, tail and feet. It is such a sweet and gentle little cat. I cannot fathom the A-hole that would abandon such a creature to die a horrible death like that.
I may pass on the next fishing trip.
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poor thing! thanks to you for saving him. looks like he'll be a lovely calico sort of kitty.. :goodjob:
I sympathize! This is coming from someone who's family dog when I was a child was named "Taffy". Guess who named her. 
