Her name is Axle. She is my alter ego; she is my muse. The day Axle got her name was quite an eventful day for her.

One sticky, gray afternoon, while eating lunch on a picnic table, by the Barbecue Trailer, by the side of the road, my husband and I witnessed something strange. A big white car pulled into the Barbecue Trailer parking lot and an upset woman got out and began circling her car. She kept calling out "where are you" over and over. Alarmed, my husband quickly went over and inquired if he could assist her. The woman told Paul that she thought she may have seen a kitten by the side of the road a mile back or so; that she did'nt think she'd run over it, but...

There was that sound, a horrible cry , (everyone could hear it) of a distressed kitten that seemed to come from underneath the car. Paul looked everywhere, then he saw a face, peering through a hole in the hubcap. He jacked up the car, and with the help of another Barbecue Trailer customer, removed the tire.

There she was, on top of the axle, shivering, screaming, filthy, wet. Paul pulled her off and put her on my chest where her little claws quickly found their way deep into my shirt, and eventually, into my heart.