Inca's Lives

In 1998, my family moved from Texas to Indiana. The move was a complicated ordeal. My dad and brother-in-law each drove a truck pulling a trailor and a car in tow. My sister and my mom each drove a car. Dad planned to load my two cats, Inca and Casey, in his truck in carriers. My sister's beagle would be riding in the other truck. My Seeing Eye dog, Elli, would ride in the car with me.

I said to my parents firmly the day before departure, "Do not let Inca outside." Inca was two years old and an avid huntress. She was also easily distressed by relocation. After one of my previous moves, she had disappeared for five days and had survived in a wooded area. When she finally returned to me, she had lost a significant amount of weight, which was noticeable on her eight-pound frame. Since that day, I had become extremely possessive of her and would have preferred that she not go outside at all; but as long as I lived with my parents, I had not gotten my way.

We were supposed to pull out at 8:00 in the morning; but someone let Inca out, and she disappeared. We finished loading the trucks and just waited around. I had this nagging feeling that something had happened to her or that we just wouldn't see her again. We alerted several of the neighbors. They offered to watch for her and feed her. One even offered to ship her to me. The new owners of the house were also willing to watch for her. After waiting several hours, we decided to skip the visit to my dad's parents and take a faster route to Indiana, leaving at 8:30 that evening.

By 8:00 that evening, I could not hole back bitter, angry tears. That cat had been through all kinds of painful experiences with me, freely giving her comfort through it all. Most recently, I had endured the loss of my small amount of eyesight, a late-onset complication of eye damage that was caused by premature birth. Standing outside with a bowl of cat food, I confessed to my mom, "It feels like first God took my sight and now He's taking my cat." How hard that must have been for my mother to hear.

Mom finally talked the rest of the family into going on without us. We hoped that when the trucks were gone and people weren't going in and out, Inca might come home and Mom and I could catch up with the family. My sister loaded up her car, putting her beagle in the truck with her husband. My dad put my other cat in his truck. I let Elli out in the back yard to relieve herself. As Mom was going outside to put some things into the car, she told me that there was a rainbow in the sky.

For a moment, I was left alone in the empty house. "Lord, You know how much I am struggling," I said. "Won't You please have mercy on me and bring my kitty home?"

At that moment, Elli began barking, indicating that she was ready to come in. I was almost certain that I heard the bell on Inca's collar. I tried not to get my hopes up as Dad came in and opened the back door, but I couldn't stop myself from shouting. "Inca!" I cried, though I was still sure that I had imagined hearing her.

I had not imagined it. "Aha!" my dad exclaimed as he swooped her up and put her in my arms. My sister came in and helped me hold Inca while Mom gave her a tranquilizer. "You scared your mommy," my sister said sternly, as if Inca was a child who could be scolded. Of course, Inca never heard a word of it. My 3-year-old niece announced, "Now we can go to Indiana!"

A few years later, when I moved to Florida, Inca habitually made my heart stop by escaping out the front door of the house, which was located less than a block from a busy roadway, to hunt for lizards. Moving back to Indiana in 2004 was a great relief for me--she now has an enclosed flight of stairs between home and the outdoors, and she is finally an indoor cat. She still enjoys playing games on the stairs; but I permit her this one enjoyment. After all, I know exactly where to find her; and it is a game I always win.

INCA'S LIVES

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