Chapter 28

Junior dropped us off at the shipping container home. The ocelot jumped down ... stretched...

‘I’ll be back.’

He took off ... last I saw he was heading down towards the river.

I went to the workshop and resumed work on the Dr1. I was at the picky part ... covering. The rudder is the simple part ... it’s flat, not at all aerodynamic. Last week ... when I started the sewing ... the tediousness of it got to me.

I quit.

Decided I needed a cat. Went looking ... found one. That’s my story ... when dad asked.

Daddy said Mom’s cat wasn’t home after the funeral.

No matter ... he was kmown to take to the riverbottom. Dad said Mom said he was often gone.

Her cat ... not his.

He never came back ... I was twelve before dad began to be concerned.

We advertised, LOST CAT. BIG ... REALLY BIG. REWARD.

That was crazy. We’re dealing with city people ... the only contact they’ve had with animals was the illustrated second grade reading books ... the ones where ALL the animals are drawn the same size.

The whole town came with cats ... lost cats ... kidnapped cats ... raccoons ... skunks. Some one brought a fox. Some wanted to know how big a really big reward was.

Daddy laughed and said, “You missed a period.”

A teen girl a little older than me wanted to know how daddy knew.

Her cat wasn’t our cat.

Raul was gone.

Then we gave away ... to a No Kill shelter ... all the catty apparatus mom had accumulated for Raul. And his kibble.

The silver and black ocelot wasn’t back when I finally went to bed.

‘Ya don’t come home at a decent hour ... ya get locked out.’

When I got up ... the kit was curled up in my Oh So Expensive aircraft fabric ... he had kneeded it up in a fluffy pile of shredded clear Irish linen ... FORTY FOUR DOLLARS a yard. $44 a yard not doped. $44 a yard on the bolt ... never mind what it cost installed.

He had the NERVE to complain that he couldn’t get in doors.

‘Mommy,’ he thought, ‘I couldn’t get in so I made do ... aren’t you proud of me?’

“Where were you, young man?” I said.

‘In the basement, but I couldn’t find the stairs,’ said the ocelot.

“We don’t have a basement,” I said.

‘That explains it.’

“What?”

‘Why I couldn’t find the stairs.’

I had to give that a think ... what I thought was...”Show me.”

So ... after breakfast ... I put on hard soled boots, a hard hat and my canvas onesie and the two of us walked over to the edge.

Bud Field is a gentle slope trending southish from 969 to the banks of the Colorado River. The Colorado hasn’t always been in the course it is now. No ... there are a series of former channels and right below the shipping container hangar and house are the vestiges of those channels.

Part of the reason our deck has such wonderful views is because we’re on a sort of a bluff. We’re below the airfield but not by much.

Straight across the present river exists several gravelpits, former gravelpits and ponds of flooded pits. The ground is fairly flat on the south side of the river.

Recently ... a geological term for within the last two or so million years ... that whole area was part of a settling pond for glacial runoff. Which glacial runoff is unknown ... what is surmised is that there were at least 4 periods of extreme glaciation over the last two point five million years. The last one was gone by 17 thousand years ago.

West of our low bluff is a flat that trends north west. On the north side of that flat runs the face of our bluff trending northwest.

Walnut Creek meanders through that flat.

Whatever. The bluff is hard rock. Water is lazy ... forever seeking the easy way to the ocean.

But ... that’s not to say water doesn’t try.

It’s not a cliff face ... not exactly vertical ... but not a slope either. A scramble rather than a climb. Along the base of our bluff blackberry brambles blocked the way. Hmm. Blackberry jam.

Oce is a Tom. Since he is a kitten ... he’s fairly low slung. The brambles didn’t bother him at all.

‘Are you coming?’

I am NOT low slung ... I’m going to need cutters or clippers.

I hiked up to the ‘terminal.’

“Bud?”

Bud was doing helicopter things. I was speaking to his butt.

“Selene?”

“I need some clippers or cutters of some kind, what do you have?”

“What are you cutting?”

“Blackberry canes.”

“In the shed ... far left ... I recommend the green handles.” “Don’t forget the leather gloves.”

I would have.

Several hours later...

The face of our bluff is full of holes. The dwarf leopard was in and out of one in particular.

I’m going to need a light ... several lights ... and new batteries ... and a good string ... and maybe daddy.