Who let the cat out of the bag?

We pull into a bus station in a sleepy, rainy town, full of hues of brown mud and lush green vegetation . A sign saying gaucho reveals this to be cowboy territory. The rain is torrential and the streets resemble rivers. Our bus thunders through the streets, wetting anything unfortunate enough to be in the way.
At the bus stand, a girl in her early twenties grabs a gorgeous, white, kitten by the scruff of its neck and drops it haphazardly into a small rucksack. She zips it closed. Into another sodden rucksack a plastic bag full of food follows suite. There is drama.
Por favor, she screams at the bus driver, wiping tears from her eyes. I've been in this town two months. Por favor. Her screams travel through the open door and are audible all over the coach. In her other hand she holds a red guitar which has just been rescued from the ground, previously having been dumped there in a puddle with no care. Her dark hair is limp, wet and soaks her face sticking to her skin.
She is still pleading to be allowed on the bus.
A woman passenger, waiting for the loo, on the long distance coach comments on the situation, and says what we are all thinking, what has she got a cat in a rucksack for, it's clearly going to die. The bag moves and it is obvious that the kitten is trying to escape. The white kitten is inside, in the dark and can hear the cries and begging of its owner.
Our bus pulls away and the girl isn't on the coach. Nor is she at the bus stand.
The kitten? Who knows if it is still in the bag.