I Promise You Won't Suffer

I Promise Not To Suffer: A Fool for Love Hikes the Pacific Crest Trail by Gail D. Storey
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

You know this book has to include some suffering, despite its title. A memoir of hiking the PCT would not be complete without some major hurting.

The trail starts in California at the Mexican border, and ends 2,663 miles later at Washington's Canadian border. That number speaks for itself: my feet are sore just thinking about hiking that far. Add in walking through desert, climbing alpine heights, crossing ice fields, and fording raging streams. And bears!

The PCT hiker's interior journey can be just as full of pain as her physical experience. That's why I keep reading memoirs of the trail. This author had a lot going on in her head before she started the trip, and her time on the PCT brought many anxieties to the surface.

On this list is her dying mother, who had promised to be alive when the author finished the trail. Another is her husband, whose dream inspired the couple to sell their house and live on the PCT for six months.

One question I have when I start one of these memoirs is, "Will the author finish the trip?" I won't answer that question here, for fear of spoiling it. I will say, that in the end, the journey's weight is in the author's interior transformation. It's a good addition to the list of Pacific Crest Trail memoirs.

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Other memoirs of the Pacific Crest Trail include:

• The Cactus Eaters: How I Lost My Mind -- and Almost Found Myself -- on the Pacific Crest Trail, by Dan White (which I read and enjoyed)
• Wild, by Cheryl Strayed (here's a link to her interview on NPR)
• The Trail Life: How I Loved it, Hated it, and Learned from it, by Julie Urbanski
• Skywalker: Highs and Lows on the Pacific Crest Trail, by Bill Walker

Those last three are on my to-read list. Have you read any of these? Or better, hiked a part of the trail? Been a thru hiker on the AT, or attempted any journey like these? I'd love to hear about your experiences, first-hand or otherwise.

Cats happen

Reader beware: For animal lovers only. The following post contains sappy memories and mild anthropomorphism.

I adopted my cat, Peanut, when I was in grad school. My then soon-to-be-ex boyfriend sputtered, "Why did you do that without asking me if I like cats?" I learned something valuable with that conversation, that any partner of mine would have to take a package deal: me and my cat.

After we got married, Zed (who doesn't love animals but tolerates them) and I rescued a cat whose sister was adopted without her. Miss Parker and Peanut became friends in their own cat way. When our first baby arrived, Miss Parker became a nanny cat, and protected Taryn from Peanut, who kept trying to head-butt our infant.

Miss Parker taking her turn watching infant Taryn.

Taryn pulled herself up and surprised Peanut.

Years later, after the deaths of these much loved feline family members, I promised myself that I was done with pets. It is too heartbreaking to say goodbye to these little souls. Miss Parker had feline leukemia and died too soon. Peanut stayed with us for a good, long time, but her kidneys eventually failed, and all four of us were devastated after her death.

No more cats. 

That arrangement lasted for four months, until a cat arrived in our lives: we agreed to foster a stray who had wandered through my friend's neighborhood for a while. Fostering turned into forever after Taryn and Kathy fell in love with Eli. I loved him, too, but I let the girls mount a campaign to talk their daddy into keeping the cat. It's harder for him to say no to them than to me!

One cat was enough.

Then our dear friends announced they were moving out of state and needed some help. Could we watch their cat for a couple of weeks until their house was sold? It was fun to have a second kitty in the house. Eli followed Ginger around, trying to get her to pay attention to him. When she drank from the bath faucet, he sat on the side of the tub and watched. When she left the room, he left too. When the canned food was good enough for her, it was suddenly good enough for previously picky Eli. Ginger charmed the humans, as well. She rearranged the girls' stuffed toys, leaving them in a pile on the landing. She howled in the night, perhaps a love song to the toys she had herded. Our friends moved away* and took Ginger with them.

We missed that second cat.

Our solution was to adopt two kittens. The older one was the last of his litter to be adopted -- saving the best for last -- and the younger one was that rare cat singleton. Tank and Rascal became brothers in their foster home, and wanted to stay together. They fit right in with Eli, who, at seven years old, is experiencing a second kittenhood. He rumbles with his new brothers, chasing them up the stairs and being chased back down. He grooms them and cuddles with them. He wrestles with them and is generally gentle.

Tank, Rascal, and Eli love their wet food.

Three cats watch the falling leaves together.

So now we have three cats. 

Our spending at PetSmart has, predictably enough, increased. The vet bill is only slightly horrifying. The girls are thrilled. Zed reminds me that it is my turn to clean the four litter boxes. 

I woke up last night with three cats keeping me warm. I'm pretty sure they just wanted to wake me up to feed them, but I am choosing to believe they were purring their love for me.

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*We miss our friends, too! But that would be a separate post.