This year, in order to commemorate the 11 year anniversary of Miles’ passing into the Land of Peace and Repose, I decided to take the Nomad Moon out camping with my cat Dobby.  I always like to do something contemplative and private. Since I have taken precious few van trips this summer, I thought it would be fun to go somewhere nearby so I could enjoy some tranquility.  

I’ve been pondering the dilemma of what to do next winter when I go to Arizona.  Do I rent my Cannon Beach, Oregon house to someone who likes cats?  Or do I fly Dobby down there, or do I attempt to drive the van with cat on board?  Since both of my cats have always hated being in cars (emitting alien yowls, vomit, diarrhea, and copious amounts of drool), it has never been a pleasant experience for any of us.  My daughter Savanna, who now has the other cat, Winky, noticed she seemed much more amenable to a drive if she could sit on someone’s lap rather than be confined to a cat carrier.  The trouble is, if she did get sick, the mess would not be confined to the cat carrier either.

Dobby has always been the less adventurous cat, so I wasn’t sure how it would go taking him camping.  I became encouraged by a program I heard on NPR called “Herding Cats”, in which the speaker assured the audience that cats could indeed be trained.  Loving a challenge, I took it on.  I began exposing Dobby to the van for a few moments at a time.  We’d have coffee and cat food in the van in the mornings.  While he has tolerated a leash, and loves to be outside, I can’t say I actually “walk him”.  He walks me, or rather, he lies down in a favorite spot, refusing to budge till I drag him lying down, when he inevitably does a Houdini act and worms his way out of his harness and runs off.  Who’s in charge here?

We worked our way up to some very short drives in the van.  I rigged up a few barriers to prevent him from jumping on my lap or under my feet while I was barreling down the highway.  There was some protesting and cat anxiety but I countered this by spending a small fortune on cat pheromone products which are supposed to relax cats (yes, these products exist).  I also bought him a tiny cat tent, hoping he might like to hang out in it at the campground, but he found the zipper and nosed his way out in seconds flat. If this image doesn’t make me seem like a crazy cat lady, then maybe one of me standing outside my house in a pink bathrobe with uncombed hair, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a cat on a leash in the other does. 

Our maiden camping trip started out pretty well. We drove 15 minutes to Seaside and sat on Miles’ memorial bench, with Dobby snuggled up on my lap. He took a foray into the dune grass on his leash. He meowed a bit as we drove north for an hour to Long Beach, WA. I stopped to get some oysters and sweet potato fries and ate in the van with the screen door open so Dobby could get some air.  Normally I’d be afraid of him trying to escape, but when faced with the option of noisy street traffic or a cozy van, he chose allegiance to his home away from home.  I stopped at my favorite bakery for some cinnamon buns and onion cheese bread.  I should have called it good but it seemed too early to go to the campground so I drove to the beach, where a dozen cars and trucks were parked in the sand.  My big mistake was thinking I was one of them, but alas the Nomad Moon is a big hulk of a beast with only front wheel drive.  The vehicles parked on the sand were akin to 4 wheel drive monster trucks. Within 2 feet of pulling off into the sand, I was stuck.  Where have I seen this disaster before?  Only last winter, when Savanna and I needed to be rescued by CA state troopers from a muddy field.

Several bystanders and children came over to look at the spectacle, and to inform me of some volunteer 4 x 4 truck owners who like to pull people out of the sand.  I had only to post on their FaceBook site and within half an hour someone would miraculously show up to haul me out.  I felt rather skeptical so I called my roadside assistance company anyway, but posted on the website just for the heck of it.  Sure enough, some good old boys (with poor dentition and no doubt very different political views from mine) arrived while I was on the phone with the roadside assistance people, but they got tired of waiting and figured I had found my own solution. After 3 hours of not hearing back from roadside assistance however, I was beginning to feel pretty sheepish. Meanwhile Dobby hid, quiet as a mouse, in a corner under the bed. I started calling around for a local towing company whom I’d have to pay directly, but they referred me back to the volunteer good Samaritans.  Once again, those kindhearted locals arrived within minutes and dragged me out of the sand for free.  

All I can think is, this was a day I really needed to make a withdrawal from the Karma Bank.  I figure I’ve done a few good deeds in my life, and this time I’d have to swallow my pride and accept a random act of kindness from strangers. Maybe Miles was looking down from above and sent some rugged angels to give me and Dobby a much needed hand…