Let's go back to...
1993
When I was five, my parents, my brother, and I made a BIG move from upstate New York all the way down to sunny Florida. My dad's parents and grandparents had moved to Florida the year I was born. My dad worked at IBM, and while he was in the process of transferring down to Boca Roton, FL, my mom and us kids lived with my grandparents near Tampa, FL.
I started kindergarten that year. I didn't care for school much still...especially after the incident that I told you about last Friday! So after I was done with all of that awful school stuff for the day, I came back to Florida Gramma's for the real fun.
Florida Gramma and Grampa had (and still have the same one) a great house with a deck and a pool and slide and it's all screened in. And they lived next door to my great grandparents who lived next door to my great aunt and uncle. So there was much friendly, safe land to explore.
One day on my adventures, I found a cat.
Now, while cats aren't my favorite animal, I have a soft spot for all furry creatures. And this cat was small and cute. I proceeded to make friends with it and lead it back with me to Florida Gramma and Grampa's house.
My mom has always hated cats. She wasn't too thrilled. But, after I used my sweet little voice, I got to give the cat some water and table scraps. It wasn't going anywhere after that.
The cat had to live outside, but since I fed it every day, it never went too far.
I don't even remember what I named it. But I loved that cat.
One weekend, my dad was back from working all week, and the whole family (aunts, uncles, cousins) was down for a visit. We were all going to take my grampa's big pontoon boat out on the Gulf.
For some reason, I asked my dad if we could take the cat. And for some reason, he said yes.
So we piled into several cars. The cat didn't know what it had gotten itself into. It was just thankful to have been fed for a couple weeks. But now, it probably wished it would have roughed it in the woods.
We got to the Homosassa River, and the boat was put in the water. We all started loading up our fishing supplies for the day. I held onto the cat until it was time to board.
It's claws started digging into my shirt a little more. When I let up my grip in response, it jumped out of my arms and ran into some nearby bushes.
"Daddy! The cat!"
My dad pulled it out and helped me carry it on the boat.
Off we went.
On the Homosassa River, there is a little island before you get out into the Gulf of Mexico. It is named Monkey Island because there is a family of monkeys that live on it. A local hotel owns it and takes care of the monkeys.
As we approached Monkey Island, my adopted cat saw his one last hope of land. He jumped out of my arms again, scurried to the edge, and leapt into the cold water. Aren't cats supposed to hate water?
He must have been desperate.
I guess he figured the monkeys would share some of their food with him.
He started swimming towards the island...but unfortunately for him, my dad jumped in the water to grab him for me.
He wasn't too happy. He found a corner of the boat under a bench where he stayed for the rest of the day.
When we got back to Florida Gramma and Grampa's house that evening, that was the last we saw of him.
I always wonder what happened to that cat...
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