We interrupt our regularly scheduled episode of the Online Dating Chronicles to bring you …this post. I don’t know what to call it. I can’t make this stuff up. Even if I could be that dishonest, I’m neither that creative nor bright.
In the latest episode of
OMGOMGOMGOMG crazy shit Pye does The Life of Pye, she stowed away in the chassis/undercarriage of my RV for almost 150 miles and 3.5 hours!
*blond lemming faints*
Friday morning, on my way to meet up with a group of other single RVers, I packed up the RV for the first time in awhile. I was excited to finally be taking the RV on the road after many months. But, like so many things, this packing-up made Bipolar Pye nervous. (Last time, when I moved from one side of the park to the other, she peed on the driver’s seat because she was so freaked out.)
This time, she took to her favorite sleeping and hiding spot behind the couch/hide-a-bed. It’s quite safe and secluded because the only way in is by diving down the small space between the back of the couch and the wall. And the only way I can retrieve her is by partially unfolding the couch/hide-a-bed, then crawling under and pulling her out. Knowing she was fairly well sequestered, I continued packing up the RV.
I didn’t think she would leave the comfort of her hard-to-get-out-of hiding spot, but much like my last choice of dates, I was wrong. After pulling in the RV slides, I went outside and checked everything. When I opened the door to come back in Pye leaped out!
She ran under the RV and toward my car on the other side. I didn’t see where she ended up, but I called to her. No Pye anywhere in sight. I figured she went into the woods. I continued packing up and getting ready, hoping she would come back.
After 30 minutes of packing, I start the RV engine and drove to the nearby dump station to flush the tanks. When I finished, I pulled the RV around to line up my tow car (known among RVers as a “toad”). Before starting my toad, I beeped the horn to make sure she wasn’t hiding up under it. No kitties ran out from under the car, so I started the engine and begin connecting it. Another 30 minutes go by.
An hour has passed since I last saw Pye at the park I’m camped at. I call for her again, still no Pye. I leave food and water on the picnic table where I was parked and begin the long drive to the coast. The trip is almost 150 miles, and 3.5 hours long.
Along the way, I stop twice: once to check on the toad, and once to board the ferry.
I’m going to pause just long enough to tell you how COOL it was to take my RV on the ferry!! Although I’ve been on it many times, this was my first time taking the RV on the ferry. I never imagined I would be so excited once I got on board!
They gave me two lanes on the big ferry! I jumped out and took a ton of photos, as much for you all as for myself. (If I didn’t have all of you with whom to share this stuff, it wouldn’t be half as fun.)
…and all that time, I thought I was the only one in my RV. But who wouldn’t, right?
The ferry ride ends after ten minutes, but not my excitement. I start the RV again, and drive to the RV park where my friends are camped. I turn the RV off at the new park, check in, and start her up again before heading to the new spot. By 1 p.m. on Friday, I’m hooked up in my new spot.
I’m in and out of my rig a several times Friday afternoon and evening. Saturday morning and afternoon I’m in and out over a dozen times.
Around 2:45 p.m. on Saturday, I’m getting ready to meet up with some of the group. I open the door to leave and standing on the step is Pye!
*blink blink blink*
Staring at her, mouth gaping open, one hand holding the door open, one foot on the step, I suck in a breath. It takes me a full minute to realize she is not a figment of my imagination.
While standing there completely tharn (tharn: a state of paralyzed fear or confusion, from Watership Down), my thought process goes like this: “What? Something is wrong with this picture. That looks like Pye. That’s her collar and her face. She wants to come in. But where am I? I’m in Port Aransas, 150 miles from where I last saw her. How did she get here??!”
Somewhere in all of that I realized she must have stowed away in the RV chassis.
I say, “Pye? Is that you? Oh PYE! What are you doing here, baby?? Oh, poor kitty!!” I scoop her up and hug her to me.
A heartbeat before I picked her up, she seemed to back up a bit when she could’ve rushed past me to come in. But she let me pick her up so I guess the idea of being inside the RV didn’t seem as bad as it did when she jumped out the morning before.
She was shaken, dirty (dusty, with very dirty feet, but it’s hard to see how black they were in the photo), and smelled of urine/musk. As I held and petted her she wouldn’t purr because she was still pretty freaked out. Understandably. She ate and drank and slept. She got a bath the next day after she had calmed down.
Today we both made the trip back to the park in Cow-Chicken-Oil Town – sitting inside the RV. One of us rode in a pet carrier.
(In related news, the mystery of how Pye suddenly appeared at the park as a 5-month-old kitten with a big wound on her side is probably solved. She has since learned not to jump off when the vehicle is moving.)