Tag: Los Angeles (Page 2 of 2)

“The Cat’s Dilemma”, a short story

So I scrambled down a steep grassy slope on the northern face of Mt Bell, following a use trail that soon disappeared. I wasn’t lost. I knew the trail or Vista del Valle drive had to be just below, as long as I treaded downhill I’d be in good shape. But the brush was thick, the vegetation gone wild with all the rain this winter. Suddenly the landscape was savage, miles from anywhere, silent but for the sounds of nature, birds, a breeze whispering in the oak leaves and, the delicate but telling crackle of a twig snapped under a foot, or a paw.

I froze and turned around. He was there, under the shade of a low profiled gnarly oak tree, hidden in a thicket of laurel sumac. He was staring me down, not seemingly worried or nervous, but alert, confident. I recognized him, of course. He’s famous. I had read the feature the LA Times ran a few weeks back, “A Week in the life of P-22, the big cat who shares Griffith Park with millions of people”. I even followed his twitter feed.

I was a little taken aback when he spoke to me.

“Dude, can’t you read? It’s posted everywhere, “Stay ON the effin trail”.

I must have laughed or smiled, anyway I relaxed a little.

“What? You think that’s funny?” You think I’m funny?”

I made a conciliatory gesture, not knowing what to say, or not able to say it.

He squinted and gave me a long, silent, meant-to-be-threatening gaze.

“You don’t look so tough. Probably a vegetarian…” He swatted the brush in front of him as he bellowed “but you woke me up man!”

I blurted out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” And took a step back, ready to dart.

“Don’t even think about it dude!” He laughed. “I hope for your sake you know you can’t outrun me.”

“I wasn’t trying to run. It’s just…”

“What? A little scary? Your adrenaline’s pumping? Your palms are sweaty?” At each phrase P-22 took a step, circling around me. He barely made a sound, but he kept talking, “Your legs want to run, but your brain’s telling you different?”

I nodded. I was trying to inconspicuously scan my surroundings for a rock or a stick, something to throw or hit with.

“I didn’t hear you.” P-22 said, singsong like.

I nodded more visibly and replied, “Yes. I’m scared. I want to run but I know better. I don’t know what to do?”

“Welcome to my life. You may think I’m like, guided only by instinct, that I’m programmed. That, whatever I do, I’m just ‘being a wild cat’. He lifted his right paw and flicked it up and down twice to illustrate quotation marks. “Not so dude. Uh Uhm! Every time I get close to one of your lot, I have to do some serious thinking, e-va-lu-ate the situation. Like I’m doing right now. Kill, not kill. Threat, no threat.”

“I mean no harm I promise, I could just…” I pointed down the hill.

“Not so easy man! Not SO EASY.” He raised his tone, which did concern me.

“Okay. Okay.” I tried to appear calm and steady since there was no fooling this cat. “I…I’m not moving. I’ll stay right here.”

“Good. Now look. I just want you to know. I’m not going to eat you. Think about it. You look like you got half a brain. If I so much as scare you the wrong way, they’ll be on me as quick as flies on a fresh turd. You’re lucky that way, plus I’m not hungry today.” He looked up at the sky, grinned as if recalling a fond memory. “I had myself a deer last night”, he licked his chops, “tasty and fat. Even got some leftovers.” He reached a spot above me, with the sun in his back, and stopped. He was now silhouetted so I couldn’t read his expression, but when he snapped out of his reverie, his voice had lost its edge.

“What was I saying?”

“Leftovers…”

“No, before that.”

“You’re not going to eat me.”

“Hah! Yes. Kill not kill. See, here’s my problem. I have no one to talk to. The rangers, they’re cool, but if I start blabbering with them, I’ll end up in a lab somewhere, like a freaking experiment. And there are no other cats around, not that I can relate to anyway. The truth is, I’m lonely.”

He sounded genuinely depressed so I made an attempt at flattery, “I don’t believe you. You’re P-22. People worship you. You’re famous. You have thousands of followers on twitter. You’re the King of Griffith Park.”

“King? King…I get it. Lion, king. Clever. Nice try.” He shook his head slowly in sorrow and said, barely audible, “More like an emperor with no clothes. I’m a king in a cage, that’s what I am. And you know what’s even worse?”

“What?”

“I’m a virgin dude. A king without a queen. Let your instincts deal with that.” P-22 slumped down in the grass. “I wish they’d just shoot me.”

Flattery fell flat, so I went for reverse psychology. “You know what? You don’t sound like a king to me.”

He perked up.

“Pick yourself up! You’re better than this.”

“Huh?” He raised himself to a seated position.

“What do you think people are going to say when I post this all over?”

“You wouldn’t?”

“What’s keeping me? You? You’re nothing but a pathetic overnight media star, looking for a few more likes. Look at you. You’re so sorry you’re trying to scare me into listening to your sorry story. Get a life.”

Quick as a flash, the cougar leapt forward with a loud roar. I’d anticipated his move though, by ducking sideways, and then letting myself roll down a patch of tall grass. The fall lasted what felt like an eternity and I went crashing into a dead fallen oak tree. I was dazed for maybe two seconds but managed to curl into a ball and roll behind the tree trunk. I was fully expecting to get mauled and laid my hopes of survival on the angry puma getting bored with tossing a lifeless corpse around, and maybe being truthful about not being hungry.

A moment passed. Another eternity. Silence. No blows. Nothing. I didn’t dare look up. This smart cat was probably just waiting for me to offer my head as a target. I steadied my breath, and waited. I surveyed my body mentally. Nothing feels broken, I thought. I could try another leap downhill. The road must be really close. I inhaled deeply, and, fighting the instinct to stay curled up, on the defensive, jumped again, and rolled again, eventually landing on my feet. Without looking back I scrambled down the slope, on the verge of loosing control at every step, hoping a tree wouldn’t plant itself in my path. A branch I couldn’t avoid, ripped, snagged my t-shirt and the recoil sent me tumbling again. Finally, I came to a stop on a flat surface. This time it took me considerably longer to gather my thoughts and take toll of the situation. I was sitting on a dirt road, alone. Not a living soul in sight. I kicked the dust and scampered away, nervously scrutinizing the hillside.

Fifteen minutes later, I was hiking down the road back to my car when a park ranger drove up in a truck. She stopped, rolled down her window, shouted at me.

“What happened to you? You look awful.” She got out of the truck, looking me up and down. I noticed she carried a service weapon because she put her right hand to it when she approached me.

“Do you need assistance sir? You look pretty beat up.”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Just took a tumble. Nothing broken. I’m fine.”

I’m not sure why I didn’t tell the ranger about my encounter with P-22. They would want to know so they could track his behavior and act accordingly, and then who knows? Was it misplaced pride? Maybe. Disbelief? Definitely. Though I would like to imagine that I simply preferred to leave him in peace.

Walking Project 010_signs from chris worland on Vimeo.