A/N: Well life has changed, now that two kittens own me. I wake with mousies in my bed, and when I sit here, I feel nibbling at my toes. Tiny bodies use me for a springboard, or trampoline while I try to sleep. Under the covers, my fingers and toes aren't safe anymore. The kittens have doubled in size since I saw them last, and Sam is a little darker now, though no one can agree on what color he really is, something from a creamy tan to a pale stripy orange. I really don't think he's orange though. Dragon is very pretty orange patterns, circles and stripes. Their lovely blue eyes are sadly changing, but I'm sure they'll still be pretty in the end. I've been trying to keep them from going behind the computer; they have a tendency to want to pull things out with their teeth. They have their little habits, like Dragon's favorite spot is under the bed, and he's taking to standing on my chest when I'm trying to sleep and start kneading my face or nibbling my nose. And Sam is very tidy, he makes sure to bury his messes in the litter pan, and will go back after his brother and bury that too. Then he'll try to bury the food as well. There are also the numerous times Sam has fallen into the water bowl. Dragon is starting to pick up Sam's habit of burying the food too, and I've caught him taking swims in the water bowl too, which explains my now soggy carpet.
They are just too cute to stay mad at, even when they took a mousie for a swim in thier water bowl, and Sam decided to first drop said soggy mousie toy in my bed, then when I went to retrieve it, he wrapped it in the bra I'd left on the bed. I guess he thought it would dry his mousie right off.
They both seem to have settled in, even with the setback of their first vet visit (they liked the thermometer even less then Sam Carter, and their first round of vaccines knocked them out for an entire day) So I'm hoping to start catching up with the story again and banish the writer's block, not aided by the constant distractions provided by two very active kittens. It's a little hard to type while kitten try to climb in my lap and waltz across the keyboard. But I'll keep trying. Thought I'd pick up with Sam, before checking back in with the guys, who have likely headed back to the SGC.
Red gently scratched her head, and Sam leaned into the caress, only slightly surprised at the purr she felt as much as heard. He fell asleep eventually, his hand resting lightly on the back of her neck, his snores sounding gently into the cabin. Sam lay awake for a long time after the man had drifted off, thinking about home, and the people she loved and missed.
Chapter 51
At a Missouri gas station, just off of I-70 somewhere between Columbia and Kansas City, a small, pale, striped cat lurked in the shadows of the bustle, watching and waiting.
Sam had slipped away from Red nearly a week ago while he was preoccupied with getting the truck delivered for unloading. She tried not to think about him searching for her. She knew she was a coward to sneak away, but she doubted he would have let her go wandering off on her own. He'd been very protective of her at any stops they'd made, keeping her in sight if he had to let her out to take care of business, otherwise making sure she was in the cab. Luckily for Sam, the doors had big handles on them that opened when pushed down, and they'd been easy enough to operate when she'd leaned on them with her front paws, her slight weight was more than enough to get the door open.
It had taken her nearly a day to get back near I-70. After that, Sam had alternated catching rides by listening to conversations at gas stations, restaurants, and rest areas along the way. Sometimes she'd even gone some distances on foot. She hadn't been lucky enough to find any rides as good as her first lift with Big Red, but overall was pleased with her progress over the last few days.
She'd managed to get a hold of maps twice more, once liberating one from a trash can, and a second time when she'd slipped into a rest station late at night, and could look at the one kept under glass. With the aid of the maps, Sam was able to keep a fair idea of how much distance she'd traveled and what cities and towns were on the way.
Unfortunately, Sam quickly learned the harsh realities of being a 'stray' cat in the big bad world. Most of the time, she could slip by unnoticed, but she'd had several close encounters with stray cats and dogs, and an assortment of wildlife, including raccoons, fox, snakes, and even a large bear that showed up at the trash cans she had been poking through without much luck. Needless to say, she'd let the bear have the cans. She counted herself lucky to have remained unscathed thus far, but worried that her good luck so far would begin at some point to turn.
That is if you considered being exhausted and half starved, and generally soaking wet from near constant rain to be lucky. The past several days of intermittent meals and constant traveling were starting to take its toll on her. Sam suspected she looked particularly pathetic. The one glimpse she'd managed of herself in a bathroom mirror at the rest stop she'd found the map at revealed one bedraggled, filthy, skinny cat. The guys might not even recognize her anymore. She was footsore, and itched, suspecting she'd picked up an assortment of freeloaders, but tried not to think about it too much, otherwise she'd spend hours scratching. That flea bath wasn't sounding quite so bad anymore.
And then there were the encounters with humans. Sam repressed a small shudder as she remembered the group of teenaged and older males that had gotten positively excited when they saw her. Her gut niggled that something was wrong and Sam listened to her third sense, and was already looking for an escape when she saw the ropes the men were carrying and heard them talking about what they would do to her when they caught her. Sam hadn't heard all of it, too intent on putting distance between her and them, but what she'd caught had included knives, gasoline, and flames. She had little interest in finding out what they'd planned.
The encounter had left her with an overall wariness of humans and a bad taste at the back of her mouth. She had known that such people existed in the world, which derived pleasure from harming animals, but had never encountered them personally and hoped fervently that she'd never encounter them again. At least not without a P-90, some C-4, and backup. She'd show them a good time.
Despite her new wariness about humans, she still needed to eat and get home. Over the past few days Sam had managed several meals at fast food restaurants by slipping in and hiding under the tables. She'd discovered that families with small children gave her the best success at gaining scraps. The harried parents tended not to notice her, and if she could avoid little swinging feet, she generally was able to obtain a decent amount of dropped French fries, spilled drinks, chicken nuggets, and other bits and pieces of fallen food. She'd even managed half a fallen cheeseburger once.
Trashcans also contained the occasional windfall, but most were covered tightly, likely to keep out animals she thought in disgust. Sam had been initially reluctant to dig in the garbage, looking for half eaten food, but desperation and survival training had kicked in. She limited herself to what was on top though, reluctant to delve to far into cans, figuring what was on top was likely fresher, and not wanting to risk an infection on top of everything else.
Her poor digestive system had already rebelled a few times over the rapid diet changes she'd forced it to undergo. It seemed that a cat's digestive system was a lot more sensitive than a human's, something she remembered from Schroedinger and how she'd had to slowly transition his food if she changed brands. Unfortunately, Sam didn't have the luxury to be to choosy about what she ate, because sometimes it was eat what was available, or go hungry, and Sam had been going without a bit more than she would have liked.
Safe, warm places to rest were few and far between as well. Out in the wilderness one night, Sam would have given nearly anything for the ability to build a warm fire. She had still managed to find a few places to stay in storerooms and garages, but more frequently, she was curling up under overpasses, and even one night under a parked car.
Her earlier confidence in her ability to find her way home evaporated quickly as the days dragged on and her hunger was more and more infrequently satisfied. She slept only lightly, alert at every noise and movement. Sam knew her body would only go for so long before demanding rest and proper meals, but Sam continued to hope that she'd manage to make her way home before it did.
Sam's ears perked up at a wisp of conversation, interrupting her flood of worries and self-doubts. Two men had just pulled up in a large open rack truck, filled with large box like shapes under a canvas. They were discussing reaching Topeka tonight, and making a stop before continuing on their way to Oklahoma City.
Cautiously, Sam moved closer. One of the men had entered the convenience store, presumably to grab snacks and pay for fuel, while the other was busy pumping diesel fuel into the truck's tank. Sam moved behind the pumps and examined the truck.
It was a medium sized truck, and had an open bed with racks surrounding it. A large canvas was fastened down over an assortment of boxes and lumpy objects. She couldn't tell what was inside. The truck appeared old and battered, and under all the dirt, it might have been white at one time. At least there weren't any obnoxious odors coming from it, unlike the similar truck she'd slipped aboard, only to discover it was carrying refuse after the truck had started moving. She'd been more than eager to leave that ride behind as soon as it stopped.
While she'd been studying the truck, the second man had returned, and the first one had finished fueling, and joined the other man in the cab, starting up the engine. Now or never Sam thought, as she gathered herself and took a running leap into the back of the truck, slipping between the slats and under the canvas. In the dimness under the canvas, she still didn't know what was in the boxes, but she guessed from the lubricant and metallic smells that it was machinery, or parts to machinery. Sam suppressed her speculations as the truck started to move, and she was forced to find somewhere to settle before the movement of the truck knocked her down.
She quickly located a place on top of a smaller stack of boxes, in between several larger ones. With a bit of stretching, she could actually see outside the truck, which meant she could see road signs, but was still protected from the wind. She'd need to be able to watch the road signs so she'd know where they were, since the men were headed to Oklahoma City, but she only wanted to ride as far as Topeka.
Sam made herself comfortable as possible on the box as the truck picked up speed and merged onto I-70. It wasn't the most comfortable place in the world, with the sound of the wind whistling, and the vibrations from the old truck. Sam wondered if her teeth would fall out from the jostling. Beggars couldn't be choosers Sam sternly reminded herself, and settled in for several more hours of bone rattling shaking before she could hope for a better ride. Why couldn't she find a shipment of mattresses heading for Colorado Springs? Or pillows. Or blankets. Something soft, warm, comfortable, and dry to curl up on.
Sam let her mind wander in her daydreams, as the miles passed. She dozed lightly, rousing now and then to watch for road signs along the way. After several hours, Sam saw signs for Topeka, and wondered where the truck would stop. Sam looking into the deepening evening gloom with disgust, the light drizzle from earlier was now a steady rain. And she was hungry again, but that wasn't new. Still, it wasn't much fun being wet, cold and tired, and Sam was getting rather weary of all three. Her thoughts strayed back to finding a truck full of bedding again, her fantasies adding in trucks full of food, or anything soft or warm.
Sam was suddenly startled from her dreaming, when she was thrown without warning to the side as the truck lurched. A horn blasted nearby, tires squealed, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal crunching on metal. Before Sam could react, she felt herself being hurled violently into one of the large boxes as the truck she was riding in swerved sharply, brakes squealing in protest. Sam struggled to cling to her precarious hold as the boxes shifted and for a moment of terror she feared she'd be thrown from the truck. The load shifted, and something snapped, and the last thing Sam saw before her world went black was a large box heading her way with alarming speed.