Hiking With a Cat in Desert Heat

This one started with me being wrong about something simple. Washes often connect to roads eventually here in Arizona. It’s actually better when roads avoid them. I thought the wash ended at a road up ahead. It didn't. A mile later, I had a cat ready to keep going, and a desert sun that wasn't going to wait for either of us.

When the route kept going

I had started the hike with a plan of looping back on the streets where the wash met the road. Instead we just kept going. For the adventure, it didn't matter — there were good finds out there that morning, a few genuinely beautiful birds, the way the wash felt like it was alive, and even an entire car wedged into the hardened side of the wash, the kind of sightings that make you forget you're supposed to be watching the clock. The weather was perfect and nothing about this adventure felt like a mistake yet.

It wasn’t how far we had gone that hit me first. The wash had ended. And there wasn’t a paved road at the end. It was a dirt road with houses I don’t even think exist on Google Maps. And speaking of maps, when I checked the GPS, I realized this road didn’t connect to anything that would get us remotely close to home if I had followed it. That was the moment I knew it was either turn around or call someone for a ride home and somehow explain where I was using roads that didn't even seem to have names. I chose the former. But Cheeto wasn’t finished yet…

Knowing when to carry him home

I started making the way back, and I’m not sure when Cheeto realized that we were retracing our steps. At first, I had chalked it up to that he was just tired but given that I explored with him so often, a part of me knew that he wasn’t quite finished yet and his protest was to lay down and wait till we started going the direction he wanted to go. I could feel the heat starting to build on my skin, that particular rising sun feeling that tells you the clock just started for real.  We stopped for a water break, sat in the shade for a bit, and I watched him closely, because I already knew — the second he got back up, it wasn't going to be toward home.

He hopped up to try one more path. Not our path home, of course. I realized that for him, the adventure wasn’t over yet and I had to make the decision. The desert sun stops for no one. He didn’t know that but I very well did, so I scooped him up — into the backpack he went, with his entrance unzipped so he could still take in the views while I made the walk through the wash again, but this time in the direction of home.

What the backpack is really for

To be fair to him, it genuinely wasn't that hot yet. He had no real reason to understand why home was suddenly the only acceptable destination. He wasn't being difficult, he just didn't have the information I had — the sun rising, the mile back to safety was still ahead of us, the fact that we'd already gone through one full bottle of water and had a wash's worth of ground left to cover before the second one needed to carry us the rest of the way.

So instead of trying to reason with a cat convinced the adventure was still out there, I decided I would carry him the whole mile home. He did make the occasional hop out of the backpack in an attempt to change my mind. At that point I was sore, I had walked a mile already and now I was walking a mile back, carrying him too. When we were safe in our yard, the adventure continued, closer to home so retreat was an easier option.

That day reminded me why the backpack always comes with us, even on hikes when I don't expect to use it. It's there because sometimes loving an animal means making a decision they don't understand. He wanted one more trail. I wanted one more adventure too. But the desert sun waits for no one. So for one mile, I became Cheeto's Uber. If you're curious why we always carry one, it's part of our Trail Ready Checklist.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart." — Isaiah 40:11

Lord, thank You for reminding me that caring for the ones You've entrusted to me sometimes means making the harder decision. Give me wisdom to know when to carry, when to wait, and when to trust that doing what's best isn't always what feels most exciting.