It was a slushy wet sort of evening toward the end of winter. With the promise of spring warmth in the afternoon and freezing slush in the night it was the sort of weather common to north-coastal British Columbia communities.

Leaving the comfortable warmth of the town’s best and only steak house, where we had celebrated our wedding anniversary in sumptuous style, we hurried across the dirty sidewalk of half melted snow. Careful to avoid the rivulets of muddy water at the curb we piled into our 1968 Volkswagen Beetle and waited shivering for what seemed forever, for the heater to begin clearing the moisture on the inside of the windshield. Finally, with little more than a plate sized hole defrosted to peer through, I flicked on the headlights, jammed the car into gear and before the windshield was fully clear we had slipped and slid our way the eight miles home. Charging up the badly rutted driveway of half melted snow and ice, I could see the welcoming plume of smoke, white against the darkness of the trees, coming from the chimney. Silently I thanked the thoughtfulness of our babysitter in keeping the wood stove burning.

Without a delay, our babysitter donned her coat and winter boots and I delivered her the mile or so up the road to where she lived. I don’t know why, but when I was getting into the car to take the babysitter home, I thought I heard a small squeak coming from I don’t know where. Dismissing the thought as I again made a run up the icy driveway, I slid to halt just before hitting the entrance stairs. As I walked the few steps to the front door of my house, I was startled to hear what sounded like another very small squeak. I stopped and listened intently – nothing, and then, another small squeak. I turned and in the darkness walked back toward the Beetle.

Again, only louder this time there came another squeak which sounded strangely like the cry of a kitten. Not having any cats made this very strange indeed so I went quickly to the house and with a brief explanation to Peggy I retrieved the flashlight from the top of the fridge.

With light in hand I made my way slowly back to the car, flashing the light every which way in hopes that I would spot whatever was making the squeak. As I neared the car the squeak became louder, somewhat resembling a mewing sound. Baffled, I shone the flashlight around the car and under it. The mewing was louder still as I knelt to peer under the dripping, muddy chassis of the VW. Nothing, nothing on the ground, nothing behind the wheels, nothing at all, not even on the…hold on – let me have a look here and I went to the back of the car and lifted up the engine compartment door. With great expectation I shone the flashlight into the dark cavern where the motor lived. Nothing, not a darn thing, but yet the mewing was even louder.

Baffled, I stopped and listened carefully. The mewing was definitely coming from somewhere around the car, but where? Again I knelt and peered under the car, this time from the back and with the aid of the flashlight carefully examined the wheels, the ground and the back axel.

Oh my goodness, in the beam of the flashlight was illuminated the most bedraggled and pitiful specimen of a long haired grey kitten I had ever seen. In total disbelief I reached under the car and removed the kitten from its perch on the rear axle. In absolute amazement I gently carried the soaking wet, muddy and shivering
kitten into the house.

Not much later but with the aid of a dish of warm milk, some canned dog food and the heat of a box placed near the wood stove, the kitten was dry and fluffy and was romping about as though nothing had ever happened to it. How it survived the eight mile drive from town, then the trip to the babysitters house and back again, all the while perched on the axle of the car has been a puzzle to me all these years and remains a puzzle still.

Author: Bob Long
Country: Canada
Age: 63
True story: Yes
Rating: 14 paws up
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