The Nelly Chronicles Part 13

Lost at Flamingo Island

Written by Mike “Daubie” Daubenberger in the voice of Nelly the cat

I must start out by saying my bathroom situation sure has improved these last few weeks.  My people have instituted a new policy.  Each morning when they go to the beach to do their daily exercises, they take me along for some shore leave.  I take full advantage of it and use the worlds biggest kitty litter box, the beach.  The beach is a far cry from my cramped little litter box with pine pellets.  The beach offers pristine white sands so deep you could never dig to the bottom.  The air is always fresh and my hole is always in a new spot.  As my people have grown more accustomed to having me ashore, they have begun to give me more liberty.  We go on walks.  Yes, walks around the islands.  My people lead and I follow.  It’s been great I get a little fresh air and some exercise to melt away the ounces, my people get to pretend I’m a dog. 

The walks went a little too far a Flamingo cay.  The first day we went to the beach and walked over two miles, the next day we hiked up to the light beacon and then later in the day my people took me on a trek to the north beach.   I protested.  I sat my but down on the sand under a tree and waited as they wandered into the bushes.  I expected them to be gone ten or fifteen minutes.  At one hour I got worried.  Had they ditched me?  Were they coming back?  I better go find them.  So off into the woods I went searching.  They were nowhere to be found and I was getting hot, disoriented, full of burrs, and my paws were hurting.  Walking on all this hard coral can do a number on your pads.  I wish my people had gotten me some kitten mittens before we left.  Back to the story.  I continued to search and about when I was ready to give up, I heard them calling my name.  Nelly!! Nelly!!  I had five people calling my name from five different locations.  I couldn’t tell which direction to go so I let out a few meows.  No response.  I continued.  No response.  Ten minutes later I heard Mike respond to one of my calls for help and he raced to my aid. 

I was scooped up and we were heading back, but I hurt.  My belly hurt because of the burrs and a prickly pear thorn.  My pads hurt because of the coral, so I let it be known.  On hearing my cries, Mike set me down on the path.  This hurt even more on account of the torn pads.  So I limped around a little and was again scooped up.  At this point I knew my people were feeling bad.  Nobody likes to get lost and injured, but it’s hard to complain when your day ends lounging around the boat with a big can of tuna!!