Homeward Bound

So another volunteer is finishing up her service which means she is handing out remembrances. She is an animal lover and needed to distribute the pets she had collected over the two years.
I signed up for a cat.
Now I am not an animal lover. In fact, Im barely a people lover. And cats are moody so I was hesitant to accept such a gift. But I have a problem with the Sallys, Sammies, and Hip-Hoppers. (snakes, lizards, and frogs respectively).
We met in town for the exchange and my mind involuntarily re-played my history with cats. There was Sebastian; who was steamrolled in an open field. I was very young and remember staring at empty eye sockets and ribs clean of their fur. You dont recover from seeing that! But my family persisted and then there was Peter; who was stepped on by my Dad in the middle of the night. They fixed him at the vet but Peter ran away and I dont blame him. I too fear being smashed by giant feet. And finally, Beauty and Beast. Fortunately, I dont recall what happened to Beauty. But Beast; playfully jumped on top a familiar brick tower (that my brother had been stripping of mortar) so that he was pummeled to death by falling bricks.
I blame you Mini-Me.
Needless to say I was nervous about undertaking the role of caretaker for a feline.
When I met the volunteer at the rendezvous she warned me that the cat was a bit tipsy from the benadryll she administered in order to calm it for traveling.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, "I usually get drunk on transport day too!"
It was love at first sight.
She had been calling the cat E-Wok, because it resembled the Star Wars creatures. Im an even less fan of Star Wars than of cats. So I began brainstorming names as I stuffed it in my Parvan side-bag with the zipper open just enough for its scrawny neck to push its over-sized ears through. On the walk to my transport many people spotted the cat and laughed at the "mezungu's baby." It was good preparation for arrival at my truck. The conductor, Debi, greeted me and I proudly proclaimed the cat's name "This is Walkie Talkie." To which Debi replied, "in Tonga, we say kittie."
Well yea, I meant...
Then the other conductor, Charles, told me he found me a seat and led me to the side of the truck so I could stash my bags and climb in. Now usually go to the back and climb in off the bumper. I dont try to Deb it.
(sidenote: Southern Province volunteers, as is the case with most groups of people that spend way too much time together, have our own vernacular. The latest addition being "Deb." To "Deb" is to kick-ass completely, to go above and beyond, to create-begin-finish a project so perfectly as to necessitate higher technology, to make everyone else look like a one-legged red-headed stepchild beat by the ugly stick and instructed to ride the short bus.)
But this time I was excited by new pal and I did, in fact, attempt to Deb it.
And, 8 ft above the ground, with one leg inside the truck and other appendages flailing, I saw Walkie Talkie swinging like a pendulum inside my bag, now hooked on my neck as the zippier began opening with the force of its weight.
"Negative, Dub-T, do not abort."
Then Charles notices I have a "kittie." In hopes to aid my awkward boarding he announces the kittie and it spreads like the game Operator throughout the truck.
The women start to fan themselves and the children start to cry. They are afraid of my kittie. Are you kidding me? These people bring goats and chickens, dead or alive, on transport and they are afraid of my tiny Walkie Talkie hiding in my bag. But at least this time the kids werent technically crying at me...
Finally Im in my seat and I feel a tap on my shoulder from outside the truck. I turn to see a friend from my village. This friend had made a guest appearance in my inappropriate non-PG dream the night before, so my eyes bounced around self-consciously as he said, "How are you?"
"Im good. You were good...uh, i mean...you ARE good?"
Thankfully the conversation ended quickly, they jammed a few more people in the truck and we were on our way. In fact, we were so jammed that halfway through the trip I felt something poking my side and was surprised to find my own elbow attached to an arm long ago lost to feeling.
We were almost home and I was impressed at how calm Walkie Talkie had been along the bumps and swerves. But it seemed the sly cat was patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to grant escape. So when a lady dismounted and I was made to retrieve her belongings, WalkieTalkie made for an exit straight out of the bag! Women screamed and children cried. Luckily all those years at 3rd base in Little League paid off and I grabbed him mid-air, commenced lecturing him in Tonga to the amusement of my fellow passengers and then stared into the open sky while silently stroking him like Dr. Evil on Austin Powers.
Upon arrival to my hut I fed Walkie Talkie then acquainted him with my ever-present box of wine as celebration for his first night. Since he is a long hair and my own hair is now long, we bonded over matching hair cuts. Hopefully mine looks better than his tail. But it was necessary to remove the briars and thorns. From his tail, not my head.
And hopefully Walkie Talkie is a tough village cat and will therefore last longer than any of my past.
But there is a fine line of toughness Im trying to instill. Dub-T must fiercely destroy all Sallys, Sammies and Hip-Hoppers. And yet maintain a naive playfulness. Im shootin for Lion King's Scar mixed with Winnie Pooh's Tigger.
Too much Scar and Dub-T will murder all the chickens.
Too much Tigger and Dub-T could unknowingly bounce all the way to Zimbabwe.
Which is what worries me. Im on my way to Costa Rica for 2 weeks on family "vacation." I say "vacation" because Im being made to do manual labor for a good cause. Because apparently a Pastor's family cant take a family vacation without doing some good. Or something like that. But, hey, it is Costa Rica!
Anyways, Im nervous that Walkie Talkie will feel abandoned and pull a Homeward Bound straight to his previous village and volunteer.
If that happens I will totally Deb a rescue.
Positive thinking leads me to imagine my Tanned Return to a critter free hut with the squawks of happy chickens.
Just in case, I spent ample time this past week instructing my iwes on radio code to address and soothe Walkie Talkie.
Over and Out!