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It had been more than a year since my friend and I made tentative plans to tour the Haw River Winery Trail. But family obligations, work demands and life in general conspired against us until a recent Saturday. The final plan was to meet at her house, have lunch and then hit the road.

We enjoyed chatting over salad, and then headed out with our maps and a list of wineries. My friend grew up in the area so she did the driving while my car sat in her driveway. About five hours later, we returned with a collection of tasting glasses, official Haw River Winery Trail maps, and plans to finish the trail soon. We didn't get to the last two.

We sat and talked for a few more hours, but, alas, it was soon time to head back home. It was a bit chilly by then, so I cranked the heat, turned up the radio and drove. For an hour, I was on interstates and highways traveling at a swift 55 or 65 mph. When I returned to town, I pulled into a fast-food restaurant to pick up a quick snack for my oldest son.

Parked at the window, digging out change, it sounded as if my engine was making an odd sound. Great. How much was this going to cost? As I focused on the sound, so I would be able to describe it to my mechanic, I noticed that it sounded like the meow of cat. Convinced engines do not meow, I rationalized that a stray cat must have been nearby looking for fast-food scraps.

I paid, retrieved my order and headed home, happy that my engine was fine.

After parking in the driveway, Hubby stepped out of the house and asked me if I heard the noise coming from my engine. "It sounds like it's meowing," he said as he stepped toward the car.

"That's Spike -- he's sitting right there on the porch." But even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was wrong. Spike was on the porch, but his mouth wasn't moving. He was actually asleep.

Hubby opened the side door to my van and looked around. I went inside the house lest my son's food get cold. I had barely stepped into the kitchen when I heard, "Micki. Come here."

I scrambled back outside to find Hubby under the hood. "Look at this," he said, shining a flashlight at the engine. And that is when I knew it was going to cost us much more than a visit to our mechanic. The meowing was loud and clear. The eyes were terrified. There was a kitten stuck in my engine.

It took three of us to dislodge the stray from under the hood. Considering the little guy crawled up into the car at my friend's house, fell asleep and woke up zipping down the highway at 65 mph, I was bracing myself for a mangled kitty and an emergency trip to the vet.

To our surprise and relief, the little guy came out of the ordeal unscathed. We decided that we were meant to adopt the little stowaway. I called my friend to tell her about what I accidentally brought home from her house. She laughed -- after I told her that he was not hurt -- and assured me that no one in her neighborhood had lost a kitten.

Since he gobbled up every morsel of cat food we put in front of him, we concluded that he was homeless prior to seeking warmth and shelter under the hood of my car. Then we pulled out Spike's old pet box, which also once belonged to our dog, Trixie, and made up a warm, cozy "room" for our newest family member.

Our other two cats, also boys, are still wary of the little playful guy. They hiss and spit, but in a very loving, don't-forget-who-is-boss way. Our dog, the only girl pet in the house, has adopted the new kitten and is playing the role of "mom." She did the same with the others, which is why our cats all beg for food, are house-trained and chase their tails.

The new kitten is our first Christmas miracle of the season. He not only survived what could have been a disastrous ride, but he ended up with a family that loves pets. He now spends hours in the arms and laps of my boys, Hubby and me. His belly is always full. And he will soon visit the vet to make sure he is healthy, immunized and unable to reproduce.

I told my friend that I cannot wait to schedule our next trip to visit the last two wineries on the trail. However, when we do get together, I'm going to do all the driving. We have enough pets already.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.