My knuckles were white from grasping the rock face of the cliff and my knees and feet hurt from scraping and pulling at the rock. I swear I had a dozen blisters inside my hard brown boots, but I didn’t care. Climbing was my life. I’d always loved to reach peaks and stare down at the world from great heights, being able to say that I made it there all by myself. I had come with a group of friends, but I had strayed away from them, wanting to experience the elements on my own. I had told them I’d be back before sundown. I felt like I could do anything I wanted in my life. I was full of independence and freedom. I closed my eyes and let the wind blow back my long shiny black hair. I remembered the times when I was younger, before I had mountains, I had trees. In the summer I loved to feel the cool bark of the tree against my cheek as I lazily daydreamed about my future. My cat, Princess, would often follow me, and we would enjoy our paradise together. I always ended up playing fireman, as my cute little Princess always found it easier to climb up than down. I had owned Princess for a long time, but I couldn’t remember exactly how she came into my life. Was she a present? Or did she just show up on my doorstep one morning? I shook my head; I couldn’t remember. My terrified face reflected in the glaring yellow eyes of a full-grown cougar My mother would always yell at me to get down off those branches before I killed myself. I thought she was going to blow up and take the whole earth with her when I fell off a dead branch and broke my arm. The memory made me laugh. I love to climb. With my mind back on the mountain, I opened my eyes again and took in the beautiful sight before me. The sun was at its zenith. The land stretched out as far as I could see. Mountains rose up on either side of me. A forest of pines crept along the horizon; the sight was breathtaking. My climbing gear clinked and clanked as I continued to pull myself up onto the ledge above me. Finally I was able to sit down on the hard overhang of rock and rest my aching limbs. My chest heaved in and out from the exertion. I set down my pack and let myself rest. I intended to close my eyes for only a second. I did not follow my intentions. * * * I was awakened by a low snarling 1 growl. Sitting straight up, I reprimanded myself; I had not meant to fall asleep. The last rays of the sun were just slipping over the horizon as I saw my predator. My terrified face reflected in the glaring yellow eyes of a full-grown cougar. Three words. “Oh . . . my . . . God . . . ” I saw the brown-and-yellow blur and lightning silver claws of the killer flash through the air as he charged. * * * My world was thrown back into my childhood as I watched my life flash before me. Am I about to die? I tried to scream but no sound came out. All I could do was watch this strange vision of my younger life, as I was not really there. “Come here, little kitty,” my younger self coaxed to a kitten cowering in a dark alley. I remember now; this was how I had found Princess. I watched the kitten who was to become Princess snarl and hiss at the child who was me. I looked so confident back then. I wished I was back home with Princess. The kitten continued to snarl and bite at my younger self. It didn’t faze her. I listened as my younger childish voice filled the air with song. “What are you hiss-is-ing for? I’ll someday understand What makes a tiny kitten roar, There is something you don’t see, Trust in me, trust in me, Trust in me, trust in me.” I watched in amazement as Princess’s yellow eyes eased into a greenish blue, and her bared teeth were brought back into her mouth. I had always had a way with cats, but I had not remembered it like this. The child who was me continued to sing as she stroked the charmed cat. Princess lay down her head and closed her eyes under my touch. I was lost for words. The image disappeared and was replaced with the glaring eyes of the cougar. Immediately I remembered and, filled with panic, jumped to my feet. The powerful cougar pressed forward, his bared teeth hanging out of his mouth and his lethal claws scraping against the ground. I felt myself backing up and I wondered frantically how long I would last if I ran, except there was no place to run to. Now there was nowhere left to go but down. Taking a quick glance behind me I could see it was either a fatal drop or cougar. Death or death. A cougar was just another cat, and I love cats The cougar prepared to attack. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. Why do I have to die? And to be killed by a cougar? Why does it have to happen like this? A cougar was just another cat, and I love cats. Just another cat . . . At once a plan formed in my mind, although a very weak and far-fetched one, and I commenced to sing. My unsure and frightened voice wavered at first as I watched for how the cougar would react to my strange behavior. The notes filled the air and the song became stronger as I gained confidence. The cougar became confused and backed up, unsure of what to do. I continued
Animals
Enchantment of the Wolves
The farm looked old and dull, but in my thoughts everything, even the quiet farm, was eerie. I had the dream again; the same dream I had every full moon, the only dream I ever had. The gentle eyes of my mother looked down at me. All I could see were the soft, green eyes. I could feel the warmth and fear of my mother, fear that was for me. “Terry!” called my father. “Breakfast!” He was actually my adoptive father. He found me in the woods and took care of me. He knew that adopting me would be a bad idea. He had no experience whatsoever with raising a child, and the only person who could help him would be his younger brother. He spent weeks searching for my family, but found no one. He could give me up to an orphanage or adopt me himself. I suppose he felt responsible for me, or maybe it was sheer pity, but he took me in and I was brought up living on a farm with him and my uncle, Dude. He is really my Uncle Ben, but “Uncle Ben” makes rice, and Dude was a childhood nickname. I suppose I liked Dude all right, but he was gone so much that I didn’t really get to spend much time with him. “Coming!” I yelled. I ran hard and fast, I was good at that. Dude says my mother and father were probably great athletes. Besides, today my father was making waffles for breakfast. * * * It sat down and pulled the straw out of my tangled hair. I had slept in the barn with the animals again. I felt at peace with them. My father could tell I had been sleeping there, but I suppose, against his better judgement, he let me be. My father and I did not talk much. It wasn’t that we didn’t like each other, it’s just that we didn’t “click.” Neither of us was a very good conversationalist, so silence filled the gaps in our relationship. But it wasn’t a comfortable silence. It wasn’t awkward either. There was simply nothing there; no words, no thoughts, no feelings. I had lived twelve years with someone I barely knew. His tired face was that of a stranger that looked different every time I saw it. I did not miss my father when we were apart, and I did not notice when we were together. I was never angry with him, nor was I happy. He was simply there, nameless, my provider, but don’t get me wrong. I was grateful to him. Only sometimes I wondered if his choice to adopt me was a smart one. Did I really belong here? Could things really go on like this? “Did you finish all of your homework?” my father asked, breaking the silence. “Yep,” I answered. “What are you doing in school today?” he continued quietly. “Nothing.” “Hmmm. Do you like your new math class?” “No, not really.” We both went back to poking at our waffles. It was a typical breakfast conversation. I thought of saying more; telling him how I despised math class and how I learned more walking home through the peaceful woods, tasting the fresh air, than I ever could at school, but I decided that I would sound silly and thought better of it. Many long, silent moments passed before the next conversation began. “I got another one this morning.” This time it was Dude speaking. My father nodded. “Two more chickens are gone.” “Suppose I’ll go down to the market an’ get some more.” He looked tired and distressed. I knew what they were talking about. I hated it. Our chickens were disappearing. My father decided it was wolves, but we never actually saw them take the chickens. Although with so many wolves running around Stoneland, Wyoming, what else could it have been? I had my own ideas. When I proved that the Hoster boys from next door were taking the chickens, no more innocent wolves would die. I couldn’t be absolutely sure they were taking them, but whenever they came over they snooped around, and day by day their chicken flock seemed to grow larger and ours smaller. I stared blankly out the window as a beautiful full-grown wolf stepped into our yard Off in my own world, I stared blankly out the window, but my thoughts on the chickens came to an abrupt halt as a beautiful full-grown wolf stepped into our yard. It was far away from the chickens, but close enough. Even though the wolf wasn’t after them, it was in danger simply by being here. I had to get to it before my father did. I tore across the yard, each step faster than I could count. As I neared the wolf I did not slow. For my own safety I should have stopped. I did not. I knew the wolf wouldn’t hurt me. I could feel it in a place deeper and more spiritual than my heart, and somehow, somehow, I knew she felt the same. The part when I actually, physically tackled the wolf was a blur of forgotten memory. All I knew, or rather felt, was me running with the wolf, for the wolf, to a place I knew by heart and yet had never seen. The feel of my legs straining to push my body through the force of the eager wind felt natural, completely natural. When my heart finally stopped urging me forward with the force of a thousand fists, I found myself at the entrance of a cave. Unsure of what to do next, I glanced over at the wolf. Taking sure and gentle steps, she proceeded inside. I followed, a bit bewildered. There must have been fifteen . . . no, twenty wolves! The soft gray texture of their fur made me want to reach out and touch them but I kept my distance. They were all peaceful and quiet,
Catalina, My Friend
My earliest memory is of being trapped in a box. It was a large cardboard shoebox with a few holes punched into the side for air. Light glowed through the holes, but I couldn’t see through them; I could only feel myself sliding from side to side as the box was tossed around. I didn’t understand what was going on, and I was terrified. Then, I remember, the movement suddenly stopped. The lid of the box was lifted and I was bathed in blinding light. I blinked. I fluttered my almost featherless little wings. I squeaked pitifully. Then I saw her. I suppose for a human she was a little girl, but to me she was gigantic. Still, I wasn’t afraid. She looked so gentle. I stared into her deep brown eyes and squeaked again. Her face, a dark tan color, broke into a delighted smile. “A bird?” she said. “For me?” “Happy seventh birthday, Catalina,” said one of the huge people surrounding me. “This loro, this parrot, marks the one year we have been living in America.” “Como se llama?” the girl asked. “What is his name?” “We thought you could be naming it yourself. Is your bird,” said someone. “Mr. Allen, nice man next door, he gives him to you for free, because his big parrots is having too many little parrots. He says this is boy bird.” “Let’s put him in his cage,” said someone else. “He still is baby, Catalina, so you need to be feeding him special food with a spoon.” I suppose for a human she was a little girl, but to me she was gigantic Suddenly I felt myself being lifted out of the box. I felt warm hands cupped around me. At first I struggled, but Catalina’s hands were so gentle I soon nestled against them. “I will call him Paco,” she said. “Why Paco?” asked one of the others. Catalina shrugged. “I like the name Paco. Is good name for loro.” Another person, a large man, beamed at Catalina. “Now let us celebrate! Today is Catalina’s birthday, and one year since we have come here from Cuba!” Everybody cheered. Catalina stroked my head, and I knew I was safe with her. * * * Months passed. S00n I was an almost fully grown scarlet macaw, with glossy, bright red feathers; red, yellow, and blue wings that were strong for flying; an enormous sharp beak for cracking nuts and chewing wood; and a long tail of pointed red feathers. I would fly free around the house, singing along with the radio, inspecting the food in the kitchen, and chewing everything I could get my beak on. Catalina fed me and talked to me in a soft voice and cuddled me in her hands, so as I grew I learned to trust and love humans. This was a good thing, for there were many humans in the house. There was Mama, Catalina’s mother, who always had something delicious in the kitchen, though I was not always allowed to sample it. There was Papa, Catalina’s father, who bought me my food and toys. He played music on the radio that I enjoyed singing along with. Arturo was Catalina’s brother, sixteen years old; he was noisy and a little bit frightening to me. He also played music on the radio, but I didn’t like it as much as Papa’s music. Then there was Mariana, Catalina’s sister. She was nineteen years old and did not pay very much attention to me; she was usually in her room or with her boyfriend. But she was very beautiful, and I always wanted to chew her long black hair, or pull off her shiny gold earrings. Unfortunately, she didn’t let me do either. This was Catalina’s family, and everyone was mostly kind to me; but I always liked Catalina best of all. She was my mother, my sister, my best friend, and everything else to me. We did everything together. I thought we would be together forever. Then came hurricane season. We had had hurricane seasons before, living in Florida as we did. But this one was more severe than most. From what I understood, a huge hurricane was in South America and coming our way. Hurricane Andrew, it was called. Catalina’s mother was clearly nervous, frequently listening to the radio and saying things like, “I hope the hurricane is to be staying in Panama. We are having already enough of troubles.” Or, “Arturo, please keep inside the house today. The sky is too many clouds.” She would often glance out the window and then return to her work with a sigh of relief. I didn’t understand why she was so afraid, but I was beginning to get nervous, too. Then something else happened to make the tension in the house double: Mariana became pregnant. Of course everyone was happy that she would have a baby. It would be the first member of the family born in America. But there were some huge problems. Catalina’s family was definitely not rich; they had a hard enough time already with five people and a bird in the house. A baby would cost more money than Papa could earn as a cook in a local restaurant. There was talk of Mama, Mariana, and Arturo getting jobs. They considered selling some furniture, though there wasn’t much to sell. There was no room or money for a baby, and though Mama and Papa said we should move, everyone knew we did not have enough money. So with the hurricane and the baby, there was a lot of fear in the household. Then, one wet, cloudy, windy day, I heard the music on the radio stop with a long, shrill beeping sound, and a voice said, “Hurricane Andrew has taken a surprise turn to the west. Now predicted to pass through the Keys, up north to Fort Lauderdale. Do not attempt to leave your home for any reason until further notice. Repeat: Hurricane Andrew