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 I don’t know why, but I have a pocket full of cat food. I must have unconsciously grabbed some on my way out. I’d been feeding the stray cat in the neighborhood, and that little jerk followed me into the woods. He’s been with me for three days now. He usually shows up about an hour before sunset, and I give him some food. He meows and purrs, asking for pets, and I oblige. He naps briefly while I get ready to camp for the night, then he slips off. On the fifth night, he’s late to the point where I start to worry. But after I’ve settled down with a small fire, he finally emerges from the woods with a squirrel. He leaves it on the edge of the woods and trots away. I get the squirrel and prepare it for dinner. I look around when I’m finished cooking, but he’s not there. Tentatively, I whisper, "Pspspsps." After a few seconds, there’s a faint rustle of pine needles and leaves, followed by a high-pitched chirp. He comes running over to share in the meal.