Before long we came to a place under some trees that was heavily redolent with the scent of the large mother cat. And there was something else rising to my nose: blood and meat. Buried in the grass and dirt was the nearly intact remains of a deer, a deer with odors of the Big Kitten and the dead mother cat on it.
I did not understand any of this, but I knew I was hungry, and I greedily bit into the kill. After a time, making no noise at all, Big Kitten also began to feed.
* * *
That night, when I lay down on some grasses, Big Kitten came right up to me and sniffed my face. I licked her, which made her tense, but when I set my head down on the ground she relaxed very cautiously, still sniffing, exploring me up and down my length. I held myself motionless, allowing the examination. She began to purr, and I knew what she was going to do before she did it: rub the top of her head against me, just as my kitty siblings had done. Eventually she curled up against my side, and I felt the fear leave her body.
This was similar to sleeping with my head on Mack’s chest when we did Go to Work. I was providing comfort, not to a person, but to a baby kitten with a dead mother.
Lucas took care of cats. He fed them. I would look after this kitten.
I believed that this was something Lucas would want me to do.
* * *
Big Kitten and I spent several days with the kill, eating as much of it as we could. When we weren’t eating, we were playing. Big Kitten like to pounce on me and I liked to knock her on her back and mouth her head until she would twist and dash away. She also slept much of the day but was oddly alert and awake as the sun was going down and I was looking to curl up for the night. She would pad silently off into the trees and one time astonished me by returning with a small rodent that we shared.
When a restless urge to get moving overtook me, Big Kitten followed. She did not seem to like the human smells on the trail and preferred to slink along in what cover she could find, disappearing from view for large amounts of the day. I could smell her, though, and knew she was never too far away. When I could no longer precisely detect where she was, I would wait for her and eventually she would catch up.
I knew I would be able to cover more ground if I were not so concerned about Big Kitten’s welfare, but I felt compelled to make sure she was safe.
When we were just two days away from the kill site, I felt the hunger gnawing at my insides. I was concerned for Big Kitten—how would I feed her?
Late on the third day, I had stopped for water and decided to lie down and wait for Big Kitten to join me. She eventually emerged from behind some rocks a few moments after I smelled her hiding there. She lowered her head to the small pool, lapping silently. Cats apparently don’t enjoy drinking very much. A dog goes after water with elation, making lots of noise.
The scent of blood touched my nose and I lifted my head, startled. I began drooling and moved without hesitation toward the delicious fragrance. Big Kitten followed me but did not seem to smell what I smelled.
And then I saw a fox. It moved quietly but in its jaws carried a limp rabbit—the source of the blood. The fox seemed unaware I was behind it. It was running, but the weight of its kill slowed it down.
The fox saw me at the same time Big Kitten was alerted to its presence. For a moment all three of us were frozen. Then, with a surge of speed that surprised me, Big Kitten dashed forward. We both gave chase to the fox, but she swiftly pulled away from me. The fox leaped nimbly over fallen trees and abruptly changed direction, trying to get away. But Big Kitten was soon right on top of the fox, who dropped the rabbit and fled.
Big Kitten stopped her pursuit to sniff at the abandoned prey, and I joined her. We fed on the fox’s kill together, as if we were a pack, Big Kitten and I.
* * *
Hunger was with us constantly as we made our way toward Lucas. I knew this meant I needed humans, who had all the good food. Fortunately the summer seemed to be drawing people up into the mountains, and where they stopped, they would eat. I could easily follow my nose to these campsites, though Big Kitten shied away the moment she smelled people.
One day a family was sitting at a wooden table while a fire burned in a metal kettle held off the ground by thin legs. A man set a large piece of meat into this kettle, and the immediate explosion of cooking aroma nearly sent me into a swoon. The man turned toward the people at the table, not paying attention, and I bolted out of the woods, carefully snatched the meat without burning myself, and ran back. The only person to see me was a little baby in a plastic chair who kicked his legs but didn’t say anything.
I expected to feel like a bad dog, but I did not. I was hunting. I shared the meal with my kitten companion.
Another day a man was standing in a stream and on the shore was a sack full of wet fish. I picked up the whole bag. He did yell at me, not saying bad dog, but using words I did not understand yet nonetheless communicated a lot of anger. He also pursued me, his boots crunching the dirt and rocks. I could barely lift the satchel full of fish but I kept going, and eventually the man, panting, fell behind and then stopped. He was still yelling.
Big Kitten and I ate all of the fish.
Much of the time when my nose led me to people, they had departed from the area. I learned that the closer a picnic table was to a road, the more likely I would find a metal bin with food remains. I became very proficient at climbing in the barrel or knocking it over, picking through paper and plastic to retrieve the morsels people had left there. Often this meant leaving the trail far behind, hiding from cars until I came across someplace I could successfully scavenge. Big Kitten never accompanied me, but would be waiting when I returned.
The first time I was able to locate sandwich pieces in a bin, I gobbled them down, my starving belly making my decisions for me. I gorged on other foods, too, but did not locate anything to take back to Big Kitten.
When I approached her, feeling guilty, she came over and sniffed my mouth. Then she did something unexpected: she licked my lips, and after a moment I brought up a portion of what I had wolfed down.
This set the pattern for how we shared the meals people put out for me in the bins. Only rarely did I find something large enough to bring back intact, such as the time when I found a dead fawn by the side of the road, its body limp and still warm. Big Kitten somehow sensed my struggle to drag it back and joined me, surprising me by lifting the kill nearly off the ground with her jaws.
We were making progress toward Lucas, but slowly. The trails were frustratingly crooked and twisty, and often during the day I would hear humans and then the two of us would hide. Big Kitten would not want to go for a car ride any more than I.
I often smelled dogs, and didn’t think Big Kitten would want to meet them, either. I longed to greet them, but they were always with their people, just as I would someday be with Lucas.
When I sensed dogs and no humans, though, the fur on my neck rose. There was something wrong with their scent, some underlying, feral component on the air, alarming me. I could smell that they had never had a bath and had not eaten any dog food recently. I could also tell they were tracking us, and they were getting closer. Big Kitten did not seem aware—she wanted to sleep, as usual, but followed me because we were a pack.
We were in a flat area with rocks and a few small trees when I realized what was following us. I had encountered this type of creature before: they were coyotes—the small, bad dogs I had seen while hiking with Lucas. There were four of them, a female and three young males, and they weren’t pursuing us out of curiosity—they were hunting us.
I stopped and Big Kitten became aware of them as they slinked across the open ground. Her eyes turned dark, and her lips parted, revealing her teeth. She was now nearly as large as I was, but I knew instinctively that a pack of four was more powerful than two larger creatures.
We needed to run, but we couldn’t. Behind us a steep wall of rock jutted out of the earth’s surface, a wall we could not possibly climb. The few trees in front of the ridge were not wide
enough to hide behind.
I let out a low growl. This would be a fight.
The coyotes spread out, coming forward slowly, looking sly and cautious. There was no mistaking their intentions—they were going to kill us and eat us. I growled again, facing the danger.
Fourteen
I was seized by a fury I did not understand, an instinctive rage coming from deep inside. My mind filled with what seemed like memories of things that had never happened, of vicious battles with these creatures. They were my enemy and I was driven to kill them, to tear into them with my teeth and close my jaws on their necks.
Yet even as this searing hatred rampaged through me, I could sense Big Kitten’s terror, radiating from her skin and her breath, her tense muscles, her taut face. She was going to run—it was evident in her bunched leg muscles.
But running would not work. This was a pack, and a pack would pursue. The ridge behind us was unclimbable, so her dash would take her along the rock wall in one direction or the other and the coyotes would cut her off.
Yet she did run, darting along the base of the ridge. The four predators reacted by turning as one to give chase. The coyotes were still some distance away but moving swiftly, on course to intersect.
Feeling helpless, I dashed after my fleeing companion. When they caught her, she would not long be alone.
But they were rapidly closing in, and then they were there, almost right on top of her. Big Kitten bounded out from underneath them, off the ground to a tree in a soaring, astonishing leap, nimbly snagged it and scrabbled up its trunk, her claws making an audible scraping sound as they bit into the wood.
The coyotes chaotically halted, looking wary and perplexed. I took advantage of their confusion to advance closer to Big Kitten’s tree, thinking to make a stand there, to protect her. Their tongues lolled as they stared up into the branches. They hung well back of the base as if worried my companion might leap on them from above. They had thick tails and pointed ears and cold, ugly faces. They registered my movements and turned to stare at me in a single, coordinated swivel of their heads, their eyes sly as they assessed me. I was a lone dog, and they were a pack.
I neared the tree trunk and could smell Big Kitten above me. I knew she was afraid but I was not. I wanted this fight.
The three males slunk toward me, cutting off my path to the tree, until they were close enough that I could reach them in just a few leaps, but then they danced back. The female remained at the tree, gazing craftily at Big Kitten.
The males seemed intimidated, yet they were hunting me, and I knew their feigned cowardice was designed to lure me to them so they could set on me from all sides.
I was backed up against the rocks. My growling turned to barking, my rage forcing itself into my voice. When I lunged they all fell away, but one darted sideways. I turned to face this threat and another came from the other side while the one in front darted tantalizingly close to my jaws before backpedaling.
I did not know what they were doing, why they were coming around from either side instead of attacking head-on, but I ached to give pursuit to the one who was so near. Yet I felt protective of Big Kitten. I did not want to leave her cowering up in the tree, from which she would eventually have to descend. Lucas would want me to save her.
I would have to take on the males first, then the stalking female.
The coyotes were silent but I was barking fiercely, my lips drawn back and my teeth clicking at the slightest motion in my direction. They seemed stymied by the rock wall to my rear.
One darted in from one side and I turned and slashed at it with my fangs, catching only air, and then I spun and went right at the small male who had instantly come from the other side and nipped at my tail. This time I drew blood with my front teeth and the predator screamed, falling away.
I stood defiant, still barking my fury, while the three coyotes paced in front of me.
Then I smelled something that could change the equation: people. The coyotes seemed unaware, but I could smell people coming.
I saw that the coyote I had bitten now hung well back, sunk low to the ground, tail and ears down, but the other two were still in the hunt. They charged at me and when I snapped at the closest one I nipped off a bit of his fur, and as he jumped back the other one leapt forward, fangs clicking by my ear.
Suddenly all four coyotes froze, twisting their heads around. They obviously could smell the humans now, and hear their voices. “Hey!” a man yelled.
When several men broke from the trees, sprinting toward us across the flat ground, the coyotes wheeled and ran away, their bloodlust forgotten. The female was the last to leave and I bounded after her, giving chase for only a few steps: I still felt I could not abandon Big Kitten. I returned to her tree.
The men were breathing hard and were slowing down as they approached. They had big sacks on their backs like Lucas wore when we did Go for a Hike. “Is she hurt?” I heard one of them pant. As he said this, he slowed his pace. He had on a brightly colored shirt that he wiped his sweaty face on.
“Hey! Here, dog, here, doggie!” another called. His face was hairy, reminding me of my friend Ty.
There was a slight scraping sound above me and I knew Big Kitten had anxiously tightened her grip on a tree limb.
The men came to a ragged end of their run, walking slowly, two with hands on their hips as they breathed loudly. I regarded their approach warily. I had spent a lot of effort evading contact with humans and now an entire group of them were walking my way. Big Kitten would be afraid of them, even if they had food.
But they were people, and I was involuntarily wagging as I anticipated their hands on my fur.
“Look! Look in the tree, the tree!” the man in the bright shirt shouted excitedly. He raised his hand and stuck a single finger in the air.
“Is it a bobcat?” the man with the hair face asked.
“No, that’s a cougar, a young cougar!”
Another man took out his phone and held it in front of his nose. I heard Big Kitten move and looked up into the branches. Her eyes were large and her ears flat as she watched the men.
I knew a scared kitty when I saw one. Some cats are afraid of humans and will try to run when they are close, and these were near enough now that if one of them had a ball he could throw it to me. “Are you getting it?” the man in the bright shirt asked.
“I’m getting it!” replied the man with the phone against his nose. I did not understand what they were doing, but they were still approaching, though much more slowly, all of them watching Big Kitten.
“God, it’s beautiful,” the man with the hairy face breathed.
“I’ve never seen one. Have you ever seen one? I’ve never seen one in the wild.”
“It’s scared.”
Big Kitten’s dread was so pronounced it made the very air feel tense. Her muscles knotted beneath her fur, and then suddenly she sprang from the tree and seemed to be flying. She landed almost silently on the top of the rock wall and was instantly gone, darting up the hill and behind boulders.
Big Kitten! I ran to the rocks, but I could not climb the barrier; it was far too steep. I was reminded of Mother Cat streaking away from Lucas, and thought that Big Kitten was probably going someplace to hide.
“Man! That was amazing!” the man in the bright shirt shouted.
“Here, girl, are you hurt? You okay?” asked another man, this one wearing a soft cap on his head. He was closest to me, his hand extended in a friendly fashion.
For a moment I was torn. My life with Big Kitten had introduced a wildness into me, and the lure of her scent almost caused me to break away and try to catch up to her. But I heard the kindness in the cap-man’s voice. When his hand was within reach, I licked it, tasting some fish oil and dirt on his palm.
“She’s friendly.”
The man fed me treats: small pieces of meat from a packet. I did Sit to keep the process going.
“What are you doing way out here, girl?” the man with Ty’s hairy
face asked as he scratched my ears. I leaned into him, closing my eyes.
“I think someone was hunting cougar, and this is one of the dogs.”
“Is that legal?”
“Hell no, it’s not legal. They’re endangered. But some sickos will pay big money for one. They stuff it and put it in their libraries and brag about killing it, or they just want the paws or the teeth or something.”
“So the dog treed the cat? One dog?”
“It looked to be a pretty young cougar.”
“And then the coyotes showed up.”
“Exactly.”
“They would have killed this poor dog.”
“I know. I’m glad you said we should check out the barking.”
“I could just tell from the sound that she was distressed.”
“What’s your name, girl, huh?”
I wagged as the man with the bright shirt patted my head.
“You want to wait, see if the guy shows up to claim his dog?”
The men looked at each other for a long moment. I could smell treats in their sacks and hoped they were talking about feeding me more.
“I don’t know, I can’t imagine a poacher being too happy to see us, even if we did save his dog.”
“Somebody hunting cougar, they’re going to be armed.”
“That’s not legal, either, is it?”
“I don’t think so. Not here.”
“Something tells me this guy doesn’t really care about that.”
“Great. What if some asshole with a gun is pissed off at us for scaring off his trophy?”
I went over and sniffed pointedly at one of the sacks on the ground, reminding the men that there were snacks inside that could be shared with a good dog. I did Sit again, being good, to help them make their decision.
“So what do we do about the dog? We just let her go?”
“You want to come with us, girl?” The cap-man reached into his pack and dug out another treat.
“Maybe we should call this whole thing off.”
“You want to head back to San Luis pass? There was that couple camping there. Safety in numbers.”