Things can happen in an instant that can change your life forever. These moments can’t be seen coming and can rarely be achieved deliberately. Each of us if we think about it can call up a moment. They are intimate and personal gestures with the world and their impact is largely if not completely unimaginable to anyone else. So was to me this entire adventure from the moment Trevor said "coffee”. I have told as best I could some of what has happened but it is like sketching shadows. The Real Richness of Life cannot be Told. Only Experienced. Try to Share by sketching shadows. Say that ten times fast. But the body of my sketch isn’t over yet. More shadow to come. And how. And if this adventure - my Little Tale or shadowy sketch had a center, had a heart - it would be coming soon.

Glad of my healthy car for a few days. Three useless gold and pink bottles of power steering fluid roll around on the floor. Staying at Kate’s. Now understand. There are so many bits of the story left out. Some by accident some on purpose. One bit was this: I exploded at Kate one morning and took my tent and stormed off. I’d got up cranky and then pissy with her (over nothing) then snatch up my tent and split. Sorry Kate. But I cannot remember exactly when it happened. It wasn’t deep discord. Just me being a moron. In two days I was back there (Kate ultimately the most forgiving person and my sister no less and all “you’re a Sagi-tarius man.”) and had repitched the tent up the hill in inside the edge of the woods. Which was a nice. At night I would run up the hill in the dark to the little dome. I had a can of sugar alcohol for heat and in the cold fall morning would light it before crawling to life. On occasions if I had to be up early Kate played out an ethereal melody from her flute (that I could never quite remember but was the same each time) which echoing through the morning forest was the least annoying alarm clock of All Time.

And one night walking back from the great Pine that swayed to and from the bridge and to my tent I had a fright to remember. Just at the base of the drive. I hear a cough or bark across the road in the dark. Replay the sound in my head. Strikes me as being to low to be a human cough or dog growl. Turn to my right and something bolts - thrashing into the bushes. It’s the first time I am that primal sort of afraid of “what’s out there in the dark” in a long time and it burns through my body like fire. I can’t move. The bushes are off the road not thirty feet away in the moon shadow of a house. The moon is sodium and full blue and I am exposed as daylight on the road. Kneel down and hold stock still and listen for two minutes as something as big as three men thrashes for all it or they are worth in the small trees. Grunting deeper than anything I have ever heard. Then it stops. Like a moron I pick up a nearby stone and chuck it. The thing explodes in grunts and smashing bushes and my heart sinks as I wait for the monster to burst from the darkness and get me. But it makes it’s way down the hill away and under the bridge where a misstep would drop you eighty feet to unhappiness.
I come about and dash up to the tent. Where I sleep lightly. And this: I awoke suddenly and cleanly (as we all sometimes do) from my light sleep to look at my tent door. It was pulled away and taught as if by someone on the outside and by the zipper and in the instant I looked at it released.
The puffing sound it makes snapping back into shape hits me like a slap. My body burst into flame and I lie there almost unable to breath with fear for nearly half an hour before falling back asleep. There came in that time nary a tell tale sound from outside the tent in the dark music of night creatures and wind.
I still don’t know what to believe it was.
If you have to go, go now.

Believe me.


“Doughboy.” Walter says to me across the kitchen. Just putting my apron on and punching in. “Those kittens are ready to go.” he says.
“Yeah hey great.” I say. All along somehow agreeing to take one if for no other reason than to releive him of the burden and because I said I would - and on the outside at the same time having no concept of what I am agreeing to. There it is.
“You still want that one that looks like Ozzy?” he asks
Of the six kittens four are black. Of the four black three are short hair and one long. The long hair black kitten has the fattest little head. Like the daddy. And it sits like a little toy buffalo watching the others tumble and tussle. I think in a practical sense that it’s perfect because it isn’t as insane as the others. It watches a lot. A healthy little cat - just odd.
“You know, I had promised another friend of mine that if I ever had one looked like Ozzy she could have it. A long time ago.” Which he’d mentioned before. “If you want it though you can take it but you gotta should adopt the cat before tommorow.” He tells me. “She’ll be by (his friend) this week so you gotta get it outa there.”
“Great no problem I’ll be by before then.” I have from nowhere and with no real thought just made a irreversable commitment I can’t begin to comprehend. Inside I know it.

All I can think of is the kitten better like the car. My Cat will like to ride.
How to prepare for this? A new and longer lasting critter. Mine from scratch. And teach him to tell me of the things he see’s on his adventures. Maybe learn some of the Secret Cat Language.
Purchase cat litter and a box and five cans of tuna in spring water. Only the best and at least to get him to like me. What more could I need. And here it is I’m walking up the stairs to Walter’s to get my cat.
My heart is pounding I have known these six kittens since they tiny were wet squidgets. Seen their tribal interaction and here I am to snatch one away. Though one has gone already. To Bobby the dishwasher downstairs. Still within territorial distance. (This Cat became named The Proffessor because of a comment I once made about his markings - like a suit with pockets. Don in trying to remember this cat’s name always came up with El Presidente.)
Walter’s at work but bids me to help myself. Doors open. All’s quiet. No cats. There they are. And there’s the little Buffalo. Back on the bed with his uncle and two siblings. Sleeping. Gingerly scoop him up. Why, his fuzzy fat head makes him look like a little Bear. Kneel down and rest my arms in a circle on the bed. Set him within.
Everything changes.
Another black kitten thin and sleek like mama dances over and steps within my circled arms. Trots up to my face. Stands up on two and puts both hands over my left eye. I feel a shiver through my body and know I will take both cats. I’d once considered the idea and mentioned it to Walter. Once.
I scoop them both into my arms and head for the car. Both start howling before I get very far. In the car they cluch to my right leg with frightened claws the whole way back to Kate’s. I try moving them but they insist so I let them ride. I feet sick to my stomach. At Kate’s they are nervous at the smell of the Siamese Pride. I am releived somewhat to see them devour the tuna. It is all that will make them happy. We spend the next day or so lounging about and feeling each other out.
The fat head I will call Brom. And little Diabla will be Boots. Doctor Boots to be specific. (Which is from a story called “Engine Summer” by a man named John Crowley. So.) Though didn’t I almost call her Owl. Or Takasha.
As at Walt’s, he seems content on finding a good spot to sit and watching everything while she is tumbly and affectionate. She figures out before he that I am Daddy. Not really, I am Food Boy but consider myself Brother. They are amazing. “Tiny lions!” Kate squealed. Little Chocolate Lions. My Tiny Pride. I can see them suddenly full grown and magnificent cats. Or so I think. The next morning Boots yeowls in the litter box. Her eyes are runny and so is her poop. I don’t believe it. She doesn’t want to eat and worsens all day.
In the late afternoon I panic and call Walter.
“Hey something’s not right with one of the kittens.” I tell him. Mostly because in my heart I hope he can tell me why.
“Oh really? Oh I don’t know. Hey bring her back here for a few days I’ll take care of her.”
This is in essence what I wanted to hear. Someone say I Know What To Do. The way The Doctor makes you feel better when saying “You’re sick” even though you already knew that.
Just before I take Boots from Kate’s Brom gives me the damndest look and howls. He knows it. Waste no time in getting her and driving her up. She just sits and shivers the whole way. I am a nervous wreck.
Walter looks her over and says “ah, she’ll be alright. Maybe just sad that’s all. Leave her here.” Try to stand on the belief that she will be ok.
I feel on the way back to Kate’s a protective surge toward Brom. Please let nothing happen to him.
He doesn’t ask about his sister. I sense it is in part because he is Cat Wise and in part because he is really an odd cat. A watcher. Witness.
I am calmed to see Katana the young prince has taken to him. But I hate leaving him home during work.

So.
At work I worry about Boots. I feel as though she was simply not destined to be my cat. And that I may have cost her her life. Up to Walter’s that night with Henry.
Our friend Gabe is just on his way out. Gabe is a fifty seven year old Cherokee who grew up a badass and ended was turned out a Warrior and A plainsman. He was Walter’s singular Best Friend of All Time. Since kids. I always admired his radiant vitality and youthful energy.
“Howdy amigo” he says bracing my shoulder as he passes me on his way.
“Hey my man,” I say.
Gabe also took one of Walter’s kittens. A black and bouncing short haired girl. Maya he calls her.
On the couch the movie doesn’t relax me. I have been strung for a few days and how is Boots anyway?
“Oh you know Gabriel had to put that cat down.” He delivers flatly. “Up at his place.”
I am struck as though by lightning.
He does his best to soften this.
“Yeah you know she was pretty sick. Really nothing you can do you know.” He says.
“Wow.” Henry says knocked back.
I’m sick. I killed that cat. These two know it. Or know that I think it.
“Really,” Walt says glancing at me “was nothing you could do.”
I can hardly speak. I manage to spit enough words out to lay the subject to rest between us but inside am devastated. I sit another calculated twenty minutes or so and then head for Kate’s with a desperate knot in my belly for Brom.

Then.
There is a knot in my stomach. Like a snake. Like a fire hoze escaped from my grip and hissing away from control the awful weight of my worry for Boots. A sense of dread and empty setting in. I drive like a zombie. The night is cold and damp with coming fall. Ahead a car is stopped in the road. Just at a sharp bend around a Grove of Reds. Slow down.
Someone is lying in the road. Two kids in the headlights of the parked car are leaning over a person. My God they hit him.
Park and jump out. Run to see - to help.
Big heavy man dark and slumped on his side. Fetal and breathing big bursts of steam into the headlamps and cold night. That’s not a man. Good God.
It’s a Bear.
My body shakes involuntarily. Deep shivers like freezing cold I can’t stop it.
One of the kids says he never saw him. I can barely hear him. The other bends to touch the Bear. He strokes his head like a good dog. My body walks over to them.
“Look out.” I say to the kid and kneel down reaching under and from behind and gently lifting the Bear off the ground. He’s as heavy as cracking a friends back. Heavier. Shuffle to the side of the road and lay him down on the soft mat of pine needle forest floor.
“Move your car.” I say. Still shaking. They do. There’s not a mark on it.
Quickly back Julia up and off to the side. From nowhere a great Truck comes ‘round the bend with a load of timber. With no visibility to have seen us we would have been squashed. I see in the Trucks passing a black slick on the road where the Bear was lying. The other two are hovering over him.
The Bear is on his back leaning right and puffing in great huffs. Unconcious. When he comes to he would maul whoever was nearest. If he comes to. Look at him. Heaving with deep gulps of air.
Trembling I reach down and press my hand on his shoulder. I can feel his strength in his breathing. Then both hands. God. He growls.
The rumble of it electrifies my arms and up into my heart. I can not breath and can not break away. A sob jumps and locks in my throat.
Never breaking contact with him I run my hands over his whole body.
I feel each foot and toe and the dark and many scuffed black pads under them. His legs and arms and even tail. His long and so close to human hands and their black pads and long black claws. Finally his head broad and great and strong. His wet nose and my God his teeth. He growls low and solid the whole time. I am terrified and at the same time distant. I love him and know he is fucked.
My heart squeezes like a fist. Only an hour ago I learned that I killed Boots. And here it is: My Bear. Dying in my arms. Dying. It is almost too much.
Cars roar by and miss us all by a few feet their uncaring head lamps in an eerie choreography and never slowing like iron willow-the-wisps.
Lighting up the towering trees and darkness around us.
During this the other two humans who are still faceless to me take pine needles and pack them in around the Bear. Like children might. To make him comfortable they say. I stand and back away. This can’t be happening. I think suddenly that this must be their event. They hit him. They’ll take care of it. I am sure. Somehow I get in my car and drive away.

I am in a daze. Nobody at Kate’s except Brom. Hold him for a few minutes and damn death to stay away though I know it won’t listen.
There is blood on my hands.
In the mirror there is blood on my forehead and face from smearing sweat and tear. Too exhausted I leave it and sleep. If you could call that sleep.
In the morning Kate returns and gapes at my story.
“I figure they had to do something you know? Call someone. I wonder what you’d do? Call the cops?” she says cradling and rocking Brom to and fro like a baby.
“I don’t know. Game warden? Anyway they couldn’t just leave it. Even if they did someone had to see it by now and do something. It’s a fucking Bear for Christ Sake.” I say.
“Brom Burgerhead” Kate says smooching his skull. “You won’t get hit by a car will you?” she squeaks.
“Boots.” I say. “I’m calling him Boots now. Her I think actually. And she sure better not get hit by no car.”
“Chickeny Doctor Boots!” Katie shrieks holding him - her up like a baby whose diapers she was inspecting.

On the way to work I am jittery and hope the Bear is gone. But he isn’t. His brown black body is still where we put it. Dead. Godamn it. The pine needles the boys packed around him conceal him like camofladge. Great. I could hardly see him though I knew where to look.
At work I tell the story.
“Does anybody know what you do” I ask “with a dead Bear? Shouldn’t someone be notified?” At the very least doesn’t someone know anybody who skinns animals or stuffs them or what not? Nobody does. Except Walter
“Yeah, there’s that Bear Guy up in Arcata.” He says.
I found the guys number and called. Leave a message.
I do. Detailed about the Bear and the wherabouts.
That night he’s still there.
The next morning too.
And then that night. And it rained.
I consider and almost resolve myself to go and take a claw or two from the Bear. The whole incident has left me black hearted and I am hardly able to snap out of it. I am not great Cat Company for Boots. Damn myself for this too. Someone on the porch. But Light.
Why Don Parker has come back from San Fransisco.
“Wow!” he says “Timothy she’s beautiful.” He says lying Boots on her back in his big hands. She blinks slowly at him. Don is among other things a genuine Cat person and his presence makes me feel better about Boots. He knows Cats.
“Don I have to tell you a story.” I say throwing on sandals. “Come on. Bring her along.” I can’t wait. It it’s not over yet.
Somehow. Out to the car.
On the way I tell him the whole thing. He’s blown away. Sure enough the Bear is still there. Park the car.
“Hold her will ya?” I say passing him Boots. “I want her to see the Bear too.”
Rummage in the back for something to -there, bolt cutters. In case I can bring myself to cut a claw.
There is a neat little path from here to the very spot. The wood is soft and damp and late summer green and gold. I feel a bundle of flutters coming untied within.
“Up here”. I say at the little hills crest. “Look.”
There he lay exactly as before. The pine needles around him make it look like he feel from a great height and made a dent in the Earth. An Impression.
“Check it out his fur is so soft,” I say kneeling beside him. Lay my hands on him. “In fact, he’s still soft.” Seems strange.
“Timothy” Don gasps “He ain’t dead.”
The Bear stretches with three days rest all four limbs and growls a muffled thunder even louder than before. My breath is gone. The shivers. Oh my God. All this time.
All this time.

Race to the car. Maybe there’s still time.
At the store.
“Do you know who to call” I say to the guy. He remembers me from the magic marker episode “about a Bear being hit by a car?” “Cross the street. Tell one a those guys.” He motions with his chin.
Standish Hickey state park. Where I would not jump from the cliff. The uniformed woman taking five dollars for parking smiles at us.
“Excuse me,” I say.
She agrees to call the game wardens and tell them where. Guarantees something will come of it. To kick I give her my name and number and ask her to have someone call me and let me know what happened. No one ever called.
I have a moment of impetus.
“Godamn it. One last look.” I say to Don turning the car around. I feel bad to suck him into these shadows right from the get go. Boots loves him and does care what we are doing.
“Ok” I say parking the car “Don I’m gonna take a claw anyway. Anyway.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool man I’m just gonna stay here though.” He says.
“Good idea partner. I’ll be right back.”
I have no idea what drives me.
The Bear grumbles at my approach. I immediatley start crying. Drop the bolt cutters and kneel to him.

I then told him I was sorry. I told him that I loved him and that I was sorry for all the hurt he was feeling. I was sorry that I couldn’t have made it go away any sooner. I told him he was beautiful and that I knew he was a strong Warrior. I told him I wished that I had seen him run and that he was going to be home soon. I asked him if I could take a claw to carry it with me For All the Days of My Life.
He told me not to be sorry. He said I had tried and whether I had done well or not I had meant to and that is what counted. He said he was glad to be going home soon and that his pain was great. He said it would be over very soon and that I could take a claw.

My hands take his left hand and I mesh my fingers in his. I take his forefinger and expose his claw. Open the bolt cutters and place the claw in it’s little mouth. I watch his eyes and clip. He never flinches or winces just the low sad growl. Close my fist around the claw. Drop the cutters. A little blood comes from his hand.
I clutch a handfull of fur over his heart and lean across his body and press my lips to his forehead. His rumble never falter as I kiss him hard and bid him Swiftness and turn around while I am have a trace of composure.
Stumble to the car.
“Don, I - look” I say opening my fist for the first time.
The hot claw is almost an inch long and black and sticky with blood. I reel and almost vomit. Don winces. I spin around inside and look for the part of me that did this. But I don’t find anything there that I can look at straight on. I never do.

Blindly toward Kate’s. Silently clutching the still warm claw.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “I have a feeling. . .”
Spin about and head back. Why? Not twenty minutes has passed. What could I possibly see that would put this to rest Forever?
Gone.
He’s gone.
Park quickly and illegally and dash across the street. Gone. Someone has in fact taken care of him. The imprinted shape of him left in the pine needles. And where his head had lain just a little pile of brains like raspbery yogurt all neatly blown out in a single shot to the head I had only moments ago kissed.

It is impossible to understand the impact this event will have on me. More impossible to try and convey it’s power. But there it is.

* * * *