Bonus Round

Bonus Round by Adam Allegro

      Wind rippled the old man’s cheeks like lapping waves on ridged dunes, and the years stacked upon him like bulky sacks of lead. Yet, in the thicket of such tumultuous past times, of mislabeled love, of questionable decisions and dubious outcomes, of regret, a daughter had arrived. Now, long since and severed from such messiness, an unfamiliar grandchild was sprinting toward her teenage years. It was now or never for old Leon Woods, and he knew it dead-to-facts. If he stayed shut-in up north, bitter, broken and quick to blame, he’d spend the rest of his sorry years alone. After a lifetime of unintended self-flagellation, unyielding pride and crippling inadequacy, Leon’s opportunity for redemption was fading. He held the wheel firm and howled out the window.

      “All gravy from here, Maggs!”

      He had used his first pension check to help finance the shiny silver truck a week prior, paying outright for the two baby blue kayaks in its bed, the pink junior kayak wedged between, and all of the top-shelf camping gear an outdoorsman could desire.

      Departing well before dawn would allow a full morning on the water. A considerable storm was expected over the secluded Lillie Lake near lunchtime, yet Leon’s meticulous planning ensured he would be well on his way before it arrived, hopefully with a whopper of a tale in tow.

    For months he had scoured local fishing forums and blogs for any mention of Old Pete. Sporadic tales of close encounters with the fabled fish enticed Leon more and more. A hookup here, a spotting there, the storied lake trout had evaded the most skilled anglers, having  been landed and released on only three occasions over the decades. The oldest lake trout ever recorded was estimated at 62 years old. Gossip swimming around Old Pete hinted that he clocked in well past that.

      Streaks of crimson seeped the eastern sky as Leon steadied onto the rough gravel road winding to the lake. Excitement swirled with prospects of reconciliation and love, of redemption, of family, of even joining Margaret one day in that mysterious beyond. Of landing Old Pete. A happily ever after, after all.

      After two miles the growling truck came clicking to a rest near the still water’s edge. Leon strolled to the shore and drew a deep breath, inhaling the crisp world, admiring the still, glassy surface, and smiled with giddy anticipation.

      “Well past due,” he sighed, striking a match to the tobacco pinch in his pipe. He drew in the sweet smoke and closed his eyes. There she was, clear as the last time he’d laid eyes. Mag’s smile still cut like a scythe. Fighting off the welling tears, Leon pulled again from the pipe before tapping out the smoldering ashes, then set to launching the kayak.

      Soon he was gliding to the first fishing hole. The far horizon dazzled like a hurried symphony. Leon relaxed the oars and sipped from the thermos, the hot coffee and whiskey burning his throat, warming his spirits. The blood red brilliance saturating above the treeline evaporated to a numbing gray, and a foreboding breeze stirred ripples upon the calm surface. Leon got to work. He fixed a shimmering gold spinner to the end of his line, set his drag, and flung the lure over thirty feet away with an easy flick of his wrist. Almost immediately there was a jiggle-tug, the rod tip dipping with the unseen nibbles. On instinct Leon set the hook and reeled in his first catch of the day. 

     The smallmouth bass was a handsome young fish, and a nuisance to his current endeavors. Whatever. He’d take the landing, same as any angler, and with it a flurry of dopamine and confidence. Sliding out the barbless hook with ease, he gently released the fish and checked the integrity of his line. Then he grinned.

      “I’m commin’ for you, Old Pete.”

      The hunt was on. A tender breeze nudged the kayak and harmless waves rocked Leon like a loving mother. His next cast splashed a bit further. On the retrieval the line suddenly zinged taut, glitching the old man’s heart with adrenaline.

      “Old Pete?”

      He paused, then cursed the situation.

      “Goddamn snag!”

      He wiggled the rod tip and reeled in slack, but the line wouldn’t budge. Leon’s favorite lure was caught on something immovable. Trying every trick he knew did nothing but frustrate him further, so the inevitable decision was made. He held fast the line and pulled the rod until something broke free. An instant later Leon knew the lure was lost.

      He grunted, shook his head, then fished around the compact tackle box for a replacement. His bruised optimism recovered as he knotted a new lure to the line. He paddled to a deeper dropoff and flung out the shiny silver and blue spoon, allowed it to fall deep, then reeled it back in jerks and spurts. Nothing. He repeated the motions a few times with no success, then paddled to the next hole and tried again with the same disappointing results.

      The rest of the morning went generally the same. The approaching storm echoed disregarded warnings of not-so-distant thunder, the gentle breeze now a building tumble of gusts. The heavens were in the midst of a leaden awakening. The kayak became a sail, and Leon was oaring more often than not just to maintain position. Yet he was determined. Cast after cast after cast, managing the oars, switching up lures in record time, focusing like a heart surgeon in the final stretch - the only lacking in Leon’s efforts was concern for his own well-being. 

      When the seventh snag of the day halted retrieval, Leon had had enough. He groaned in defeat, surrendering to Lillie Lake and Old Pete in calming exhale. As he went to snap off yet another lure something unexpected occurred. Whatever anchored Leon’s hook jerked back. Instincts from experience dictated that at the end of his line was an absolute whopper.

      He  squinted at the water’s choppy surface, loosened his drag, and grinned like a child upon their birthday waking.

      “Old Pete…” he whispered, no doubt it was the fabled fish. “I got you.”

      And so began the epic battle between Leon and Old Pete.

    Leon fluttered his fingers into a firmer hold. The fish bolted for the depths like a diving torpedo, frantically stripping line from the reel. Defying wind and waves, the kayak’s nose came around to trail the giant fish toward the center of the lake.

     “How big are you, Old Pete?”

      A submarine dragging a cruise ship, the mighty fish defied his nature in spectacular fashion. Cracking thunder rumbled the sky and spray from splashing water mixed with diagonal rain to pepper Leon’s face. But the man was singularly focused on the fight, disregarding the grim reality painting itself around him. With the opposing wind and worsening waves, paddling back to the truck would be near impossible at this point. Lightning flashed white the gray world again and again, it’s thunder shaking the Cascades, and Old Pete grew fatigued. Leon seized the moment, tightening his drag and slowly reeling in.

     The fish swam in figure eights and circles, mostly, and when he ran under the kayak Leon retrieved line and maneuvered his rod tip around the bow with an outstretched arm. He felt the tingle of victory. He also finally recognized how far from shore the fight had taken him. But when Old Pete exploded out of the water furiously attempting to shake the hook, Leon’s attention returned. 

     “Checkmate, friend.”

      With the final burst of energy Old Pete was spent. Leon wiped the rain from his face and reeled in the trout. Two old hearts thumped, one from exhaustion and fear, one from excitement and victory, their beats heightening as man and fish caught sight of one another for the first time. Old Pete was spectacular, and to the fish, the man was an alien god. Thunder and lightning echoed across the mountains. Jagged electric bolts spiked from high points around the lake. Leon didn’t care. Old Pete was all that mattered.

     He readied himself for the landing. The behemoth trout wouldn’t make handling an easy task. Tearing his eyes away, Leon found his needle nose pliers and staged them to be readily available. He debated digging in his dry bag for his phone but decided not to - this was his special moment not to be ruined with some crappy photo. He set the rod into its holder and wet his hands,

      Old Pete glided into Leon’s cradling hands without fight nor fuss. The old man smiled and locked eyes with the fish, feeling a strange connection to his catch. Not wanting to cause injury, Leon snatched up the pliers and worked the hook from Old Pete’s upper lip. He admired his catch a little more before it was time to release him.

      “Thank you, brother. Now go, grow even older and -”

      It was only a fraction of a second, but the last thing Leon experienced on this earthly plane was an odd, tickling tingle across his skin, followed by an all-encompassing explosion of blank white light. Then Leon’s world became darkness, and he wasn’t alone.

***

      And so it was recorded, that Leon Bassett Woods, 25,915 days old, and Old Pete, 25,915 days old, were both simultaneously killed in the Cascade Mountains at Lillie Lake by lightning on the 131st day of the year 2022, and sent tethered in spirit specifically to the local Keeper for all further assessment and routing.

***

      Reality as Leon knew it ceased to be.

     The man, or what energy remained, exploded through space like a photon from the sun. The human sensations he’d grown so accustomed to melted away like a final winter’s frost, and a weightless nothing replaced his previous form - a trillion tiny strings vibrating in soothing waves. Instead of fear or confusion, Leon simply accepted his current trajectory: death and transition, for there was nothing else to consider. Except Old Pete.

     Side by side the pair zipped along, each acutely aware of the other though no form was present. A charge shared between the two communicated everything and nothing. Scattered vitality swirled and collided, interchanging like flowing echelons of migratory birds.

      At some point, time being skewed and warped, the encompassing, infinite black eroded to a crackling gray static. Rich, warm colors blurred and fizzled into a glorious, massive library, more familiar than not. Though he had no eyes, Leon took in the unending bookshelves, towering above and extending out in four directions to no end. Filling the polished shelves were finely bound books in a rainbow of muted hued spines. Random volumes whiz-hummed mechanically from their place and popped open, their pages staining in recordings with ink from no pens. Reverberating throughout were notes from all sorts of instruments: a lingering electric guitar strum, windchimes swaying, a skipping drumroll, a flutter of piano keys, gentle tamborine crashes, heavenly french horns, the cascading drizzle of a rainstick, a thump of bongos, keening violin chords… a sublime symphony lacking sense and structure. Questions arose in Leon’s absent mind, and Old Pete had some of his own.

      A wooden rocking chair constructed itself in the center of the impossible space. Sturdy and handsome, the empty chair rocked as rocking chairs do. Yet there was something oddly spectacular about this particular piece of furniture. After an instant and an eternity, the chair spoke in a voice resisting classification. Addressing both Leon and Old Pete simultaneously, individually, the words hammered heavy with the divine.

       “Leon Bassett Woods, welcome to the Space Beyond.”

      “The Space Beyond?”

      “Indeed. Beyond the familiar, and most everywhere else.”

       Contemplating the unquantifiable yielded the next obvious question.

      “Who… What are you?”

      “I am the Keeper, of course.”

     “Huh?”

     “Of this particular universe, anyway. Maybe one day they’ll allow me to supervise a gaggle, but for now this is more than enough responsibility!” The chair rocked closer. “You can call me God, Allah, Yahweh, Ra, Boss, Creator. Whatever you like. It’s all the same. I’ve been with this universe since its banging start.”

       “I knew it! I knew there was a God! Is this Heaven?”

      “Um, no. Very much it is not.”

     “Hell? Am I in hell? Thought for sure I’d be headed to hell after it was all said and done.”

      The Keeper chuckled. “Silly humans, there’s no such place. The deepest despair in life - ain’t a worse hell out there.” The chair rocked forward to back. “And friend, it’s never ‘all said and done’.”

      Leon embraced the words as gospel, receiving them as one does the rain. He sensed Old Pete beside him in a similar conversation with the Keeper. But there were still questions.

      “What comes next?” 

      “I’m glad you asked! Even with your earthly faults and failures, you were a decent man, and Old Pete, a decent fish. Thus, I will offer an opportunity: Like all others eventually do, you may proceed to Unification now, if you choose.”

      The Keeper paused its rhythmed rocking at a forward lean. A yearning for Deb swept through Leon’s absent heart. She was near.

      “Or, you may select the Bonus Round. More second experience than second chance, it will ultimately deliver you the same inevitable destination. But, both you and your brother here must be unanimous in your decisions, as the deathly bond between lingers still. In other words, you two are stuck together for now.”

      Leon regarded the fish, even though there was no actual fish present, and what wasn’t exactly Old Pete met his eyeless gaze. The two were equals. The soothing routine of Unification beckoned, but the Bonus Round’s promised mystery might just be their final frontier. The old tethered souls agreed, and the chair rocked back and forth in excited confirmation.

     “Fantastic!” boomed the Keeper. “Bonus Round it is!” 

    Every floating, self-inscribing book snapped back into its specific place inside the infinite bookshelves. The disconnected symphony of instruments harmonized in their fading destruction, while the click clack of spinning gears and humming buzz of ethereal processors intensified. The cosmic library deconstructed itself into a spectrum of neons and pastels, then blinding blankets of white, and the Keeper’s rocking chair thrust them forth, churning them back through space and time to when they had been.

***

      They came into being inside an inferno. The pair of intertwined souls blinked open their newborn eyes unto a hellish scene. Flames as high as the sky danced maniacally, the heat so fierce that fur and afterbirth singed and sizzled like wet kindling. Ripples from everything previous dwindled away, and the baby black feline thought solely of survival. He meowed in elongated whines, frozen in place, while the coyote-like puppy wailed and whimpered, bucking around the circled fire like a spooked racehorse.

      Unaware of his previous life, what was once Leon fixated on the frenzied pup. When the two locked eyes there was understanding. Their crippling fear and panic lifted. The puppy, now focused and brave, swept his head side to side before excitedly wagging his tail and motioning with the point of his snout. The kitten traced his gaze to their salvation. At the base of the burning blackberry bush was a small opening just large enough to scurry through. Instinct spurred action, and they pounced at the hole, sliding along ashy wet soil and shooting through the tunnel of thorny branches to the darkness beyond.

      They spilled smoldering from the bramble into the frigid, glowing winter night, and there was finally some peace. Rather than ash and dirt, their burnt paws rested on cold, cracked concrete. The singed kitten wanted nothing more but to collapse.

      Over the nearest hill wailed an ominous siren, and red lights strobed against the billowing smoke. A rolling red monster was coming for them. The puppy leapt out of the road, but the poor kitten was paralyzed, hypnotized by the approaching mammoth. The puppy barked and barked but the kitten remained. In moments it was over. The firetruck whooshed over the feline like the wind without incident, and the puppy whined in relief.

      Narrowly avoiding catastrophe, the kitten snapped alert to register a second incoming vehicle. Truck tires screeched and skidded down the road and the kitten vaulted toward his nervous friend But this time he was less fortunate. Before he could leap clear, before the truck dragged to a stop, metal met fur and the kitten was sent cartwheeling into a bordering ditch. 

    Dazed, in and out of consciousness, commotion blurred for the injured feline. There was shouting and arguing, barking and growling, the truck speeding off, a second flock of sirens whining past, the wind’s droning howl, the crackling, popping brambles, soft, lapping puppy licks, and multiple periods of blackness.

      Soon another truck arrived. Soothing words towed a sweeping flashlight and heavy bootsteps. The puppy snarled and barked. Instinct led the kitten to hiss as a pair of arms swept him up, but his tension eased when a warm blanket swaddled around him. A disordered world flickered against the woofing chorus as the man lowered the kitten into the passenger seat. Like a magnet to its mate, the puppy hurdled into the footwell below and communicated everything he needed with a sloppy lick up the feline’s cheek. Then they were moving forward, floating in the care of this curious savior. Wherever they were headed would surely be an improvement over their tortuous emergence. The baby feline relaxed his rigid little muscles and rested.

***

      He opened his crusty eyes to a warm and homely space, opposite in almost every respect from his previous waking. The first thing the kitten noticed was the snoring, drooling puppy nuzzled beside him. Next he saw the man - those muted blue eyes emanating kindness and self-loathing, the wrinkled features reflecting decades of work and toil. A woodstove glowed the corner of the room, flinging heat throughout, and several flickering candle flames cast shadow and light across curtains and dusty family pictures.

       “You two must be starving!”

      The words meant nothing to the kitten, but the man’s deep soft tone was reassuring. Before leaving the room he scratched both animals’ heads and smiled. The kitten purred for the first time, then tried to stand. Shedding the blanket, he rose on all fours only to immediately collapse in a whining fit. His front right leg was bandaged in white, the appendage visibly fractured in two places. Through a significant amount of discomfort the kitten maneuvered his way back under the blanket and sighed.

      “Here we go, little friends.”

      The man set a bowl of crushed graham crackers and tiny strips of chicken in front of the kitten, and a whole chicken leg in front of the puppy. The canine pounced on the food. The kitten, timid and unsure, sniffed closer and closer, then nibbled the greasy chicken bits, Ignoring the graham cracker crumbs. The man poured whiskey into a glass tumbler and plopped down on the tattered rug.

      “Cinder,” he declared, his eyes fixed on the kitten. “Can’t think of anything more fitting.” Next he observed the puppy gnawing on the now meatless chicken bone. “Must be some coyote in you. Lots of it, the more I look. Mmm… Coyote… Coyote Dog… CoyDog… Coy. Coy!”

      The puppy looked up and held the man’s stare. A sloppy tongue fell from his smiling mouth and his tail wagged back and forth.

      “Cinder and Coy. A pleasure to meet you both. My name’s Jim.” He pointed at his chest on the last word. Though they couldn’t comprehend, from then on the animals would associate the man with the sound “Jim”.

     “Now,” he continued, sipping from the tumbler. “It’s a good thing I was monitoring the radio, otherwise I never woulda heard the fire captain report you guys. They begged me to evacuate earlier, but I couldn’t abandon this old house - she’s all I got. Lucky for me the flames never jumped the road, which is less than I can say for the Wilsons’ property.” Jim drew a breath and sipped more whiskey, his eyes migrating to the roaring wood stove. “Poor folks lost everything.”

      Jim stood, his attention settling back on the pair. “I’ll take care of you guys, no one claims ya. For now let's just worry about gettin’ that leg fixed up. A friend of mine’ll be here soon, a retired vet - animal sort. She’s good people, so you two best behave yourselves.”

      Coy had grown bored with the bone, and was now demolishing the chicken soaked graham cracker mush. Cinder studied Jim, acutely unaware of what pain and discomfort awaited.

      “We’re gonna set those little fractures, Cinder. Fix you up good. Coy, you seem to be doing just fine.” The puppy raised his head from Cinder’s bowl and yawned a smile.

      Some time passed before the woman arrived. Her shiny silver hair flowed upon a gust as she passed through the front door. When she laid eyes on the orphaned pair a tenderhearted smile hung from two rosy cheeks. The animals felt it. Her aura was good and pure.

      “Mary, this little slobberer is Coy, and this poor guy is Cinder.”

     “A pleasure to meet you both!” she expressed, her hands finding and massaging their scruffs. Coy rolled over hoping for some belly scratches, and immediately had his wish granted. Cinder tried to enjoy the affection but found himself increasingly uncomfortable, as his throbbing leg was nervous about something forthcoming.

      Mary turned to Jim without breaking rhythm. “Got any milk?”

      He nodded.

    “Good. Warm some up for Cinder. Then add these - crush ‘em up good.” Mary smiled and handed over two white pills. “And pour me one of those whiskeys.” Her eyes found their way back to the kitten. “I’m sorry little guy, this is gonna be tough. We need that leg to heal properly, so under the circumstances our only option is to do this here and now.”

      Cinder shrunk into his tiny frame and yowled.

     “There, there, furry friend. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

      Jim snapped to it, returning shortly with a metal tray holding the medicated milk and two full whiskeys. Mary took the closest glass, raised it in toast, and downed the contents in one giant gulp. Smiling, Jim mirrored the salute and upended his own. Next he traded the milk for Mary’s empty glass and returned to the kitchen for refills.

     Unsure and confused, Cinder watched the interaction with great interest. His fear was checked by the woman’s kindness, her sincerity. When she placed the bowl of warm milk in front of him there was no hesitation. The kitten leaned forward and urgently lapped it down. Feeling disregarded and jealous, Coy raised on all fours and made a move for the bowl but Mary shooed him away. Jim returned with two fresh whiskeys and they waited.

     Once the drugs kicked in Cinder was a loopy mess. Meowing and hissing frustrations, the kitten eventually flopped onto his side and surrendered to the high. As if being born into such chaos was enough for one day, this altered state was something else entirely.

     Mary took a final swig from the fresh tumbler. “He’s ready.” 

     “You sure?”

     “Of course, silly. I’ve done this more times than I can count. Now make yourself useful and fetch Cinder a little blanket.” 

     Mary removed what she needed from her bag and set it next to the kitten. “This’ll be over before you realize it, sweety.” Then, to a returning Jim, “wrap him up carefully and make him comfy. Sedated as he is, he’ll still try and wriggle free once I get to work. Then we’ll bandage and splint everything in place, let his body do the rest of the work.”

    Jim followed directions, and in no time Mary was ready to begin. She whispered some reassuring words into the kitten’s ear, raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips at Jim, then focused on the mangled leg, her hands finding their way to the uppermost fracture. With a concert pianist’s precision, she crackled the fragile bones back into place. The kitten wailed elongated whines, futilely trying to escape Jim’s grasp. Coy barked and howled in the background.

     “There, there, Cinder,” consoled Mary. “Halfway done.”

     Without wasting another second, surprising both Jim and Cinder alike, the woman snapped the second break back into line with a grinding pop. The scanty kitten finally succumbed to it all, his newfound reality crumbling away to a cavernous slumber, and he turned to jello in Jim’s arms. Then the healing began.

***

      Stranded in relative immobilization next to the sliding glass door those first cold, dark months yearning to venture outside, Cinder spent most of his hours observing Jim and Coy from his corner, and on less occasions these days, Mary. The humans often sang and danced to music in the early times, and it was clear that Jim was happy. Sometimes the pair would argue, and sometimes Mary would storm out, and Jim would drink whiskey and cry. When he wasn’t drinking the old man was a more-than-adequate guardian, having officially adopted the mismatched pair after no one laid claim. He nursed Cinder with patient tenderness until the kitten could hobble around on his own, and gave a comparable amount of love to Coy. Watching the two play amongst the dozen clucking hens motivated the young feline. When the last snowfall melted winter away Cinder was finally allowed outside to explore the homestead. It was the best day of his life.

      Weeks later his sheltered world grew a little bigger. Late one morning as golden rays angled through the sliding door to warm his favorite spot in the dining room, while Jim and Coy snored away in the bedroom, Cinder finally caught the squeaky mouse he’d been hunting since sunup. Pawing the poor thing with gleeful torment, torturing its tiny heart into a machine gun drumroll, the young cat became distracted when an ominous shadow grew across the floor. He traced to its source and the terrified mouse scampered away into the kitchen. 

      Fogging the outside glass sat a bedraggled Calico with a scar across his nose and a split ear, his fur scruffy and unkempt, his eyes sharp and focused. Cinder forgot about his helpless plaything and dialed on the unfamiliar visitor. He released an anxious moan and stared down the intruder. Seconds stretched the discomfort until pattering paws came barreling around the corner to break the stalemate. Upon spotting the mysterious visitor, Coy barked and barged into Cinder and the sliding door, startling the ragged Calico to dart off.

      “Mornin’ fellas,” greeted a yawning Jim, none the wiser. “Pee pees?”

      The old man slid open the glass and both animals sprung into the backyard. Coy made his usual rounds, anxiously sniffing and deciding where to urinate, while Cinder limped toward the fenceline. Halfway across the neighboring field was the Calico, who turned, locked eyes, then disappeared through a hole in the abandoned barn across the lot. Cinder watched from the fencepost, too timid and nervous to pursue further. Soon Jim called out.

      “Coy! Cinder! Breakfast!”

      The animals returned to the dining room. Cinder couldn’t shake the Calico from his mind, leaving his meal for his canine brother. The day unfolded in normal fashion and he all but forgot about their uninvited guest.

      Three days later while basking with the hens under the cherry tree Cinder sensed something was off. He scanned the property line until he noticed the Calico watching him from just inside the fenceline. Feeling an obligation to investigate further, the young cat approached with caution. Soon the two were squared up preparing for a scuffle.

      “Cinder!” hollered Jim from his rocking chair on the back deck. “Get back!”

      He ignored the old man and lunged at the intruder, who dodged the attack with a swiping paw that connected with Cinder’s cheek. Trickles of blood seeped from the wound, but it didn’t phase him. Cinder pounced again, this time catching the Calico off guard. The two tumbled through a spiraling spiderweb into the brush at the foot of the field. The catfight only lasted a few moments before Jim arrived and the bruised Calico scurried away. Cinder was scooped up, scolded, and whisked inside. A shallow gash lined his cheek and his heart hammered with excitement. He had proved he was no pushover. The familiar whiskey on Jim’s breath comforted Cinder, and he didn’t fight the man’s grasp. Coy, snoring across the yard, was oblivious to the altercation. In his dream he was a swimming fish, his outstretched legs and tail flapping the air as if fins. Cinder was satisfied and proud with his stand, and allowed Jim to tend his cheek without protest. It was the new best day of his life.

      As the sun dipped her toes in the horizon the following day, the Calico returned. Again Cinder met the intruder. But this time was different. Jim had already passed out from the drink and Coy was in the front yard growling at a tree-hiding squirrel he’d never catch. The cats quietly circled one another, each set of eyes unflinching and serious, a sense of mutual respect budding between. Drooping from the Calico’s clenched teeth hung a field mouse. Cautiously, deliberately, he laid the peace offering at Cinder’s feet and retreated, then trotted off to the barn without looking back. The black cat understood that the orphan was just lonely. From that moment on they were allies, and most everyday thereafter played and hunted together as friends. Even Coy took a liking to the Calico and regarded him almost as highly as Cinder. The three were one, reigning supreme across the homestead. Life for the tethered reincarnates was grand.

***

      Spring on the homestead was particularly lush. The rainy weeks flowing along as if time was a stream. Cinder and the Calico spent their days hunting rodents, exploring the surrounding fields, overseeing the hens, and generally doing what cats do. Cinder found a mentor in the Calico, growing to love him as a brother. Coy eventually moved on from his squirrel obsession, instead finding purpose in prolonged lounging mixed with random bursts of energy, much of which was expended alongside his feline friends. Since he had never met another dog, he regarded the cats as his own kin. Much of the time they would leave him to do their own thing, and that made the young pup sad. But when they did include him, the hunt was his pinnacle of enjoyment.

      The non-traditional trio was becoming quite an efficient band of killers, working together like a miniature wolfpack to bag trophy after trophy. They delivered their prizes to Jim and couldn’t understand why he’d toss the bodies back into the fields instead of eating them. They considered him their protector, their provider, but also their servant, for he was the one to feed them, to clean up after them, to attend to their every need, to comfort them. For a time. Increasingly Jim kept to his messy bedroom, and the empty whiskey bottles cluttered the garage. He even installed a small door flap so Coy and Cinder could come and go as they pleased. Between the drinking and sleeping the homestead began to fall into disrepair, and the animals subsisted primarily off what they killed.

     Jim also neglected the hens, often forgetting to feed them and secure their pen at night, leaving them defenseless and vulnerable. Eggs rotted, but the chickens didn’t seem to mind, as the increased freedom allowed for sunup worms and tick scavenging to fill their empty bellies. The alternative was to be trapped inside until a hungover Jim eventually rolled out of bed and remembered to let them out. Besides, Cinder and his friends watched over them as if they were family. Some of the birds would even roost in the cherry tree at night out of instinct. 

      Life trudged forward into the doggiest days of summer without many hiccups. That was until one moonless night an opportunistic predator came to the homestead and changed everything.

      In the midst of an epic bender, as a raging heat wave desiccated the bordering pastures, Jim slept through the scorching days and drank through the sweaty nights, utterly oblivious to the outside world. One particular evening, his bedroom door shuttered and music booming, a foreboding, distressed mess of clucking was lost on the heavily inebriated man.

       Cinder heard it first. He pawed Coy awake and they ventured out to investigate. The Calico was already watching from the concrete slab under the rocking chair. In night's darkest hour the ominous shadow approached the open coop. Coy went inside to wake Jim with barks and door scratches but the old man wouldn’t wake. Still at statues, Cinder and the Calico watched the hairy shadow enter the chicken pen. Desperate squawks arose and the cats hiss-whispered their concern. Fear immobilized them. Their backs arched and bodies trembled. Coy returned as the creature trotted from the pen clenching a limp chicken in its teeth. Then it suddenly stopped and spun its ragged snout toward the trio. Two wicked yellow eyes caught the porchlight and glared threats and warnings, petrifying the three. Coy’s tail cowered between his legs and the cats whimpered in terror. The beast left in no hurry, slow-stepping through the fence and vanishing into the night. That was their first encounter with the wolf.

      The Calico followed Coy and Cinder inside, and the three spent the remainder of the darkness huddled together in the dining room corner replaying the dreadful happening. Come sunrise no chickens filtered from their coop. With the heat unbearable, the first traumatized hen tiptoed out, then the next, until eleven of them were pecking up bugs as if no tragedy had befell the previous night.

     Cinder and his friends were on edge all day. Despite their efforts, they unsuccessful in translating their warnings to Jim. When the blazing sun commenced its afternoon descent, the old man stumbled out for another bottle of whiskey. He shooed away a yappy Coy and ignored Cinder’s cautionary whines, then zombie-walked back to his whiskeyed stupor. At sunset the trio managed to close the pen behind the last chicken and roll some rocks in front, but were unable to set the latch. It would have to do. Panic-stricken by what might come, they waited out the uneasy hours under a bush near the cherry tree.

      The wolf returned earlier this time. The slivered moon sent ghastly rays across the homestead, revealing more of the intruder. Drooling and possessed by hunger, the juvenile was almost twice as big as Coy with a lethal grin and raggy black fur, its lemon yellow eyes singularly focused on the chicken coop. Again, Cinder and his friends were struck in a terrible awe. 

      It opened the pen with ease and leisurely devoured two chickens amidst much commotion, then snatched a third, carrying it out thrashing and squawking. Coy found his courage and barked and growled, emerging from the foliage and stomping his paws upon the dead brown grass. Once the wolf turned, Coy whimpered and ran inside the house. The cats were helpless. They cowered under the bush willing the beast to leave. It sniffed the air, howled in victory, and walked away with the jerking chicken dangling from its snout.

     Something had to be done. The following morning they devised an unspoken agenda, examining the crime scene and clearing the dead carcasses off the property, probing around the chicken pen to decide where they might hatch their plan. Another night cowering and watching would be unacceptable, as they were the chickens’ protectors, and so far four of the birds were dead. The odds were piled against them. Ultimately, if they could surprise the young wolf, confuse him, the resistance might spook him to abandon the easy meals. Maybe he wouldn’t come back. Maybe. It was a tremendous risk, but helplessly watching more and more hens meet their violent ends wasn’t an option.

      Coy would wait inside the coop, as the chickens were familiar with the dog and would welcome the protector. Cinder was to perch in the tree above to aid his canine friend should the wolf not spook and withdraw. And the Calico would come in from behind if things spun out of control. They were betting their lives that the predator might find the effortless pickings not so easy anymore and forgo the hens for a more convenient meal away from the homestead. If they could overwhelm him it just might work, for they held superior numbers and the element of surprise. 

      A tense, windy day slid into a still-as-death dusk. Despite one last team effort to alert Jim, the man was more interested in his bottle than anything else. Shortly after the sun set over the western hills the defenders met in front of the chicken pen, then they set into their positions and waited.

      Time was a devilish tease playing fast with Cinder’s mind, yet he was acutely attuned to his surroundings and ready to engage should Coy fail to frighten off the wolf. Visibility was adequate, the moon’s sliver slightly larger than yesterday. The cat was ready. On numerous occasions his ears perked and heart pattered as a twig snapped somewhere in the darkness, as a rogue breeze rustled the fields, as a rodent scampered across the yard. Each disturbance in the silent night set off his fight or flight, but there was no option for the latter. He’d die before abandoning his family.

      Fighting fatigue, curious how the others fared, Cinder’s attention peaked when he heard Coy’s quiet whimpers inside the coop. The pup picked up the wolf’s musky odor, and the hens’ nervous clucking confirmed it. Outside the fenceline a dark silhouette foregrounded the fields. It crouched into the yard and moved in an unworried saunter toward the chicken coop. Then the wolf stopped. sniffed the air, and howled a boastful warning to all in earshot. Cinder trembled and hoped Jim had heard the baying, but the muffled music booming from his room prevented any entry from the outside. The wolf nudged away the rocks and opened the pen. Cinder knew there was no turning back.

      A hellhound possessed, Coy exited the coop growling and beaming. The wolf, slightly stunned, perked and snarled his fangs. Like a compressed coil sprung, Coy shot for the wolf’s throat but was forcefully batted aside, clanging stunned against the chicken wire. As the black beast approached for the kill, Cinder leapt growling from the branch and dug his claws into the wolf’s bushy backside, the force tumbling both to the ground. Holding tight as a stubborn bull rider, he bit down with all his might into the flesh of his enemy’s spine as it thrashed. The wolf yelped in pain, then vaulted to his feet and bucked Cinder into the coop, rebreaking the cat’s leg. The Calico, no stranger to fighting dirty, aimed for the groin and swiped the sack so violently that the young wolf would never be a father. It hobbled in shock and shrieked, and blood began weeping from the critical wound.

      Inspired by his friends’ bravery, Coy snapped to his feet and clamped his jaws around the wolf’s hock, but the beast wouldn’t give up. He pulled his leg from the dog’s mouth and went for Coy’s head, snaring a cheek and tearing half of an ear clean off. Coy cried out in pain and backed away dazed. Barely able to move, Cinder watched in horror as the wolf focused his attention on the hissing Calico. Despite his agonizing leg, he mustered his grit and leapt off his three good legs for the wolf’s throat. Though his teeth wouldn’t sink deep enough to mortally wound the wolf, he hung on its throat for dear life as blood dribbled through his mouth. Again the wolf cried out, then swung his paw to dislodge the cat. Claws ripped through Cinder’s tummy, releasing his grip and crumpling him to the ground. Blood poured to make auburn mud.

     Shock was gripping, and Cinder understood the situation dire. Coy growled an imminent attack and the Calico hissed in fury. After weighing worth, the wolf finally relented. He backed from the pen limping and bloodied, his pride shredded along with his manhood. Coy pursued him to the fenceline barking and growling, his own blood staining the ground below. When the wolf turned for the fields, Coy knew he would never return. They had prevailed, but the price was mighty. 

     “Hey! What’s all this racket about?”

     Having caught the last of the fierce battle, Jim crashed out the back door to a drastic scene. When his eyes fell upon the destruction, his heart plummeted to his toes and his drunkenness sobered. Coy was panicking, licking furiously around the cat’s wound. Haunting moans arose from the Calico as he gently nudged his friend’s head. And poor Cinder lay dying, his underside shredded, his chest heaving up and down like a spent runner, his blood puddling the thirsty dirt.

     “Oh God… What happened here?”

     Jim knelt and scooped Cinder into his arms as he had that first time they met that fiery winter night. He examined the decreasingly gushing wound and knew what outcome awaited. Tears welled.

     “No, no. No, please! Oh God, what happened? No…”

     Cinder’s piercing yellow eyes were malaise and muted. He met the old man’s distressed gaze and softly meowed. Jim started to cry.

     “Please don’t die, little guy. I need you. I need you.” 

     And he did. Or at least in the moment he did. Seconds later the black cat’s heart stopped and his little body went limp. Coy whelped his sadness out in eery, visceral howls, and the Calico sobbed pure sorrow to the night. Jim blamed no one but himself, and cried until all his tears were spent. He vowed to never touch the bottle again, and would keep true to the promise until his dying evening years later. With the first light of the day he buried the black cat under the cherry tree and cried some more. That afternoon he called Mary to apologize for everything, and the two made a plan to meet in town for coffee the next day. The Calico abandoned his barn to live with the old man, who welcomed the stray as his own. And Coy, who first entered the world as a fish, lived a long, happy life on the homestead. He often thought of his feline brother, and knew deep down that one day they’d be together again.

***

      Disembodied again, the being that once embodied Leon Woods the man, then Cinder the cat, catapulted a final time from the familiar earthly plane toward the place of cosmic processing. He arrived at that extraterrestrial library where stacks of self scribing volumes constructed themselves out to infinity. Now the Keeper was a simple-yet-thriving Gingko tree set inside a striking green vase.

      “A tree?” asked Leon.

      “Like to shake things up from time to time.” Thousands of feathery, fan shaped leaves wiggled in unison. “Perpetuity can get excruciatingly boring. So, how was it?”

      “How was what?” It took the visitor a moment to recall everything. Memories from his previous human life speckled back, as well as his short stint as a cat, the perspective gained in the latter filling meaning for the former. “Oh, right. It was truly something.” Leon’s essence sensed his wife was near. “Deb…”

     The tree leaned forward like a father to his infant. “Are you ready now?”

     “Ready?” But he already knew the answer.

      “For what comes next, silly.”

      The breadth of it all rested down like a massive balloon.

      “Well, I suppose. Is there another option?”

     “That, there is not. Not now, anyway. Like all who arrived before and all who are yet to come, you will transition to be unified with everything.”

     A feeling that wasn’t quite fear washed over the bodiless traveler, as the one-way trip felt daunting and forever, yet oddly comforting. Trepidation halted his words. The gingko gilded closer, lowering a branch to where the spirit’s shoulder might have been.

     “‘Tis a familiar horizon, my friend, as you have been there before. You came from there. It is the place where all things begin, as well as end - even though nothing really ends. All of your questions will be answered, all of your unease dispelled.”

     A seed of excitement sprouted. Acceptance evaporated the angst. “Alright then. I suppose I’m ready.”

      “Lovely!” The gingko shimmied its approval. “It has been an absolute pleasure, Leon Woods. Your next journey begins!”

      The tree hopped backwards and spun in place. The infinite atheneum swirled and sprinkled away in turn. And Leon, his individuality disintegrating in golden, tingling warmth, ceased to be and became one with it all.