Winter Warmth at Wildberry, Part Two

Growing up in temperate Vancouver, I had never heard of an engine block heater. I was in my thirties before I first noticed a power plug dangling by the grille; I had no idea it was for a block heater. Now, I would never buy a vehicle without one. We even have one for our tractor.

A block heater allows easy engine starts in very cold temperatures. Of less importance but no less appreciated, they aid in snow removal on the hood of the vehicle. Sadly, they are irresistable to cats.

At one point our feline population numbered sixteen due to one unplanned and two planned pregnancies.

Maxine was one of the loveliest and most affectionate cats we've known. She was a natural and relaxed mother. In the mid-1990s she gave birth to a litter of six. Two of those kittens, Wizzette and Soy, still live with us. We suspect that Max probably used five of her nine lives.

One winter day Lionel went to start my vehicle, a one-ton diesel pickup truck--with a huge warm engine. For whatever reason, that day he leaned in to turn the key without actually getting in, sitting down and shutting the door. Had he been in the cab with the door closed he would never have heard a strange sound over the loud diesel engine. Luckily, he was outside; he heard something unusual; he immediately shut off the engine.

It was his beloved Maxine. On the warm engine. She escaped with her life but without a large swatch of fur on her flank. Her skin was red and looked very sore but she did not seem to have suffered any serious internal injury.

Max was Lionel's most special girl kitty. I swear they shared a psychic connection. Once Max went missing for more than two weeks. I had to tell Lionel that his favourite cat had most likely been killed by a predator. He assured me that she was fine and would return home. I thought he was bonkers.

That very night, Max came home, after two weeks and four days. Lionel knew Max would soon be home because it came to him in a dream that night.

Living here, cats are usually taken by predators. They just disappear. You realize that you haven't seen one of the cats and start counting the days since you last saw him or her. For that reason none of our cats are buried here. Except Max.

She lived to such a ripe old age we suspect that she had gone deaf and could not hear the vehicle that struck her. Lionel found her on the road just at the end of our driveway. We felt lucky to bury her in our pet cemetary.