It's funny how flawed my memory can be. After I rescued Girl in Bay St. Louis the first time, I remembered her as a sweet, cooperative kitty, but it turns out that it was only luck and circumstances that led to that impression. She had been stuck in a tree for six cold nights when I rescued her the first time, and she didn't have the energy or any place to go to get away from me, so I bagged her with no trouble.

Silly me, I was expecting her second rescue to be just as simple and uncomplicated, but I was blissfully unaware of her whole life story and reputation for a sour disposition. In fact, I didn't learn her story until almost the end of her second rescue after spending way too much time trying to accomplish the impossible by trying to befriend her. It turns out that Girl, also known as Lilly, has had a hard life, is not very sociable, and can be quite grouchy, so I guess I should feel proud that I was naively able at least to pet her several times without getting my hand bit off. That was actually quite an accomplishment, but she was too far away from me to rescue, and she eventually got tired of being touched and backed away even farther out of reach.

That was when I decided to go back down to retrieve the rescue-pole, and that was when I learned her hard-life story. If I had known earlier that my chances of befriending her were slim-to-none, I would not have spent so much time trying to befriend her and being puzzled about failing to do so. It was now time to get more aggressive and get that baby out of the tree so she does not spend a third night there. Once I snared her in the rescue-pole, she acted just like I would expect an ornery cat to behave: she registered a complaint. I pushed her into a waiting net and released the pole, and she continued to kick up quite a fuss while I secured her in the net and took her down.

I wish I could reason with some cats so I could explain why I am there and what my intentions are and how this will all end exactly the way they want it, but, of course, that's not possible. Somehow, I don't think Girl will reflect back on this event and see me as the rescuer who saved her. No, in her mind, I'm sure I am the evil monster whom she bravely and cleverly fought off and escaped. Fortunately, I don't do this for the gratitude and appreciation that the cats show to me, but I do wish I could convince them that I am, at least, not the enemy. But I am content to know that they are back on the ground, safe and comfortable. After all, that is my primary goal.