<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t like her when she first moved in. They rearranged the furniture, for one thing. They carried in three suitcases, a wardrobe full of clothes, and an unspeakable leather sofa that smelled too much like Rottweiler. She put new sheets on the bed (bargain detergent, mothballs) and a new collection of pictures by the window. Then the sill was no longer mine. To top it off they spent a ridiculous amount of time in bed. I left the house whenever it started because I found it faintly disturbing, and for two weeks I protested her presence by howling for my food at dawn.<\/p>\n
Her name\u2019s Melissa Tompkins. She\u2019s a young real estate broker with deep cleavage and bottle-blonde hair. By \u201cyoung\u201d I mean she celebrated her thirtieth birthday in the backyard here about three weeks ago. She scooted around the pool in a bikini and flip-flops, laughing at Ron\u2019s jokes and waving a glass of wine. She doesn\u2019t watch her step, which can be dangerous for cats.<\/p>\n
I prefer the cool silence of our living room at night, which features plush carpet and a glorious aquarium left behind by Robyn, Ron\u2019s oldest child. The fish move in the blue light behind thick glass, and Robyn taught me the breeds \u2014 clownfish and firefish and angelfish, African cichlids, \u201coscars,\u201d and miniature koi. Of course it\u2019s been made CRYSTAL CLEAR to me NUMEROUS TIMES that the aquarium is NOT FOR HUNTING. Whatever. The tank\u2019s built into the wall. It hardly even smells. But the blue light calls to me like a mirage, in constant motion, murmuring perfect dreams.<\/p>\n
On one of these aquarium nights, Melissa came down for a snack. She found me on the coffee table and snapped on the light.<\/p>\n
\u201cShit,\u201d she said blearily. \u201cOscar?\u201d<\/p>\n
I got ready to run.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou startled me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before Carol\u2019s departure I could roam the dozing house undisturbed. Now I watched Melissa fade back to the kitchen and stand in front of the fridge. She sat at the table and consumed the following: a slice of cheesecake, some leftover stir-fry, and a glass of pomegranate juice. When she returned upstairs, I followed her at a distance.<\/p>\n
Ron\u2019s voice mumbled through the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust for a glass of water,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I saw Oscar on the coffee table. Staring at the fish in the dark?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMmh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes he always do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMm-hm.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean is he hungry or something?\u201d<\/p>\n
Right.<\/p>\n
I crept back downstairs and washed my face.<\/p>\n
One<\/em> of us is the freak in this house, lady, and I don\u2019t think it\u2019s me.<\/p>\n \u201cI got an email from Darren,\u201d Ron announced at breakfast, feeding me a bit of sausage under the table. He was a large-bellied Italian with short black hair, now receding from his forehead but not from his arms or knuckles.<\/p>\n \u201cHe wants to come home this weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, how nice,\u201d Melissa said.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s got a few weeks on base before he\u2019s discharged, but he says he\u2019s ready for a homecoming now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoney, that\u2019s wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI put something in his account for a truck. He\u2019ll head to Oceanside on Saturday to buy one. Then he\u2019ll drive up here.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren had landed in California a week before, and Ron went with the rest of the family to see him at the base. But Darren refused to come up for a homecoming bash \u2014 no one\u2019s quite sure why. Still, I knew good news when I heard it, so I arched my back against Ron\u2019s chair leg.<\/p>\n \u201cHe was in Iraq for how long?\u201d said Melissa.<\/p>\n \u201cAbout a year and a half. Two tours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019ll be so interesting to hear his stories.\u201d<\/p>\n Ron cleared his throat. \u201cHe was surprised to hear about the divorce,\u201d he said in a serious voice. \u201cI guess the question is \u2014 do you want to be here for the party?\u201d<\/p>\n Melissa munched a breadstick.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re inviting Carol and the girls?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, but you should be here, too. If you\u2019re comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n She sipped some tea.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, we all have to get used to this,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n Ron was pleased. \u201cOkay. I\u2019ll go out for groceries today. We can have shish kebabs.\u201d<\/p>\n I rubbed the edge of my mouth and teeth against Ron\u2019s shoe out of sheer joy. I tried to include Melissa in my affections, but her shoes were open-toed. \u201cOw!\u201d she hollered and nearly kicked me against the kitchen wall. I bolted for the living room, but Ron hollered at me<\/em>. One injustice of life under the current regime is that he always takes her side.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think Oscar likes me,\u201d Melissa was heard to complain while I crouched for my life under the sofa.<\/p>\n The three women arrived together \u2014 Robyn and Kristin, with their mother Carol \u2014 and it was such a relief to hear their voices ringing in the entryway that I almost get stepped on again. Ron played proud father and host, pouring out juice and champagne. After a lot of preliminaries we settled around the crab dip. Robyn wore a soft blue fleece coat, tennis shoes, and wire-rimmed glasses. I settled next to her on the dog-smelling couch, where she rubbed my ears.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s Darren?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s driving up,\u201d Ron said.<\/p>\n Kristin had a new job in L.A., for a fashion magazine on Wilshire Boulevard. While she discussed it I watched Carol\u2019s flat, canny eyes observe Melissa. The younger woman leaned forward for a stick of celery and ate it without dip. Her sheer top was low-cut.<\/p>\n During a lull in conversation Carol said, \u201cThese hors d\u2019oeuvres are lovely, Melissa, did you make them?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? No, they came from the store.\u201d<\/p>\n Carol had blonde hair shaped like a bell, fading to gray, with an inward curl at the neck. Her loose knit sweater was maroon but modest compared to Melissa\u2019s clothes. She smiled, enigmatically, and turned to Robyn.<\/p>\n \u201cHow was your trip?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cGreat, we just got back from Kauai. I was there with my lab last week,\u201d Robyn told everyone, \u201cand we went on some interesting dives.\u201d<\/p>\n Silence fell while Melissa processed this information. She\u2019d met the kids maybe twice before, and she tended to forget the things Ron told her.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026 With your labrador?\u201d is what she came up with, and the silence grew profound.<\/p>\n \u201cMy laboratory,\u201d said Robyn. \u201cWe study coral reefs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s a post-doc,\u201d Ron reminded Melissa, with a hand on her thigh. \u201cShe\u2019s got a Ph.D. in marine science.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n Melissa handed around the crab dip without indulging. I bathed in the odor of seafood and cream.<\/p>\n \u201cOscar\u2019s being so good,\u201d Carol said. She wiped a small amount of dip on her finger and handed it across Robyn to me. I snatched it expertly with my tongue. Carol had moved out maybe eighteen months ago. I\u2019ve missed her ever since. Her cooking, her common sense, and her awareness of the family infused this house with an intelligence that Melissa seems to lack.<\/p>\n I purred and meditated on what exactly had gone wrong around here. Cohabitation, of course, is complicated. But things grew tense after Darren joined the Marines. Carol didn\u2019t like it;\u00a0she just tolerated his decision as some kind of phase, like having a pierced ear. \u201cAt least the world\u2019s at peace,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n That was five years ago. But the tone of the household changed a year later, when a clock radio clicked on in the master bedroom and announced a confusing piece of news. It was a beautiful fall morning, with early sunshine pouring in from the yard. The whole green-carpeted bedroom seemed to glow. I sat alert at the foot of the bed, listening to birds in the sycamore.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026 What kind of plane?\u201d Ron asked the radio, still half-asleep.<\/p>\n \u201cMust\u2019ve been a Cessna,\u201d murmured Carol.<\/p>\n Their feet moved under the covers, but I held my ground.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, in Lower Manhattan \u2014\u201d Ron yawned and rubbed his face. \u201cMust be a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat time is it?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cAbout six.\u201d<\/p>\n He sat up. He wore sleeveless undershirts in bed that showed off his hairy shoulders.<\/p>\n \u201cMight go for a run,\u201d he announced.<\/p>\n But when he trotted downstairs, in silk shorts and a T-shirt, he happened to snap on the Samsung.<\/p>\n \u201cSee what\u2019s going on real quick,\u201d he said. \u201cRight Oscar?\u201d<\/p>\n The TV would stay on for three days. The spectacular explosions of the Twin Towers, the sight of planes vanishing with sinister softness into walls of glass, raining fire and debris, weren\u2019t unusual to a cat raised in a home with American teenagers. But they welded Ron and Carol\u2019s attention to the screen.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s Darren?\u201d said Robyn on the couch, still stroking my fur.<\/p>\n \u201cNot here yet,\u201d said Ron.<\/p>\n \u201cWant to see pictures from the trip? I have a thumb drive.\u201d<\/p>\n Ron agreed; I think he worried about lulls in conversation. Robyn plugged a small device into the side of the Samsung, and used a remote control to click through colorful pictures of Hawaiian fish. I jumped onto the coffee table.<\/p>\n \u201cOscar,\u201d said Ron and pushed me down.<\/p>\n I placed myself on the floor some distance from the dip, to signal my good intentions.<\/p>\n \u201cLeave him alone, he wants to watch,\u201d Robyn said.<\/p>\n \u201cIsn\u2019t it funny how he likes TV,\u201d said Carol. \u201cSome cats don\u2019t care at all. But this one likes to watch the news.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis one likes to watch a lot<\/em> of things,\u201d Melissa blurted, and all the women stared.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean,\u00a0I found him once on the coffee table,\u201d Melissa said. \u201cJust like that, watching the aquarium.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe does like fish,\u201d said Robyn. \u201cDon\u2019t you, Oscar?\u201d<\/p>\n I played it cool and licked my paw.<\/p>\n She found some pictures of a coral reef destroyed by a hurricane: no anemones, no crabs, no vegetation. Kind of boring.<\/p>\n \u201cThis was right after Hurricane Iniki, about thirteen years ago,\u201d she said. \u201cIt did so much damage off Kauai you could see the reef\u2019s rock foundation. These rocks used to be covered in shelves of coral, mounds and forests of it. The hurricane just took it away.\u201d<\/p>\n The sun-shot water seemed dusty with bits of sand. Robyn moved to another photo of the reef, this time spotted with spiny purple blossoms. \u201cThose are crown-of-thorns starfish. They\u2019re eating what\u2019s left of the coral. A few of these starfish are normal in a healthy reef system, but so many of them all over the rocks is just devastating.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d asked Melissa.<\/p>\n \u201cToo much imbalance. It killed the reef.\u201d<\/p>\n The next picture showed the same submarine desert, just stumps and knobs of rock and bone. But now it was covered in slime.\u201c About a year later,\u201d she said, \u201cpredators had discovered the starfish. By then there was algae on the reef. That\u2019s also bad for coral, but the algae attracted turtles and fish. You can see them grazing in the background.\u201d<\/p>\n Ron\u2019s phone buzzed.<\/p>\n \u201cIs that Darren?\u201d asked Carol.<\/p>\n Ron nodded and frowned at the device. \u201cHe isn\u2019t coming.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d said Carol.<\/p>\n \u201cHe bought his truck, but he\u2019s gone back to base.\u201d He read out loud: \u201c\u2018Sorry, dad, I just can\u2019t make the barbecue. Hope you all understand.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n He glanced up at his family in a way that was meant to be curious, good-humored, questioning, but there was a depth of bewilderment in his brown eyes that he couldn\u2019t mask.<\/p>\n Darren did come home a few weeks later. Everyone gathered, again, for crab dip and wine. No shish kebabs, to my disappointment. But Darren acknowledged me with a stiff, hard scratch on the head. His touch was rougher than I remembered.<\/p>\n Ron asked for a \u201cfront-line perspective on the war,\u201d and Darren\u2019s answer had an edge of mockery; it showed the same off-key defensiveness as his refusal to drive up for shish kebabs.<\/p>\n \u201cIraq doesn\u2019t have<\/em> a front line,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s asymmetrical warfare. You can be miles from some pocket of hot fighting and still get whacked by a bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n Ron sipped his cocktail. \u201cOkay, but how are things going? Pretty good? I mean, the mainstream media won\u2019t show us the victories. They make it look like a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren looked serious. \u201cWell, no one who goes over there comes back with a clear idea. On our way up to Baghdad, we couldn\u2019t tell what the fuck was goin\u2019 on.\u201d He smirked. \u201cWe got our news from the BBC.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n The smirk broadened into a massive grin. \u201cTo see who was winning.\u201d<\/p>\n His bulky frame and dark-haired, brooding face looked cheerless and hard, with a shamming smile I would see more and more of in the next few weeks. Behind it lay a pool of hatred and cynicism. His mother studied him with real concern. Robyn and Kristin were curious about anything he had to say. Melissa, as usual, was tone-deaf.<\/p>\n \u201cDarren, we were so sorry you missed the barbecue last week \u2014 we had shish kebabs on the grill.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s what I heard.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe were gonna do it again today, but Ron said you didn\u2019t want us to use the grill.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hope you didn\u2019t turn vegan out in the desert<\/em>,\u201d said Melissa, trying to sound pert, and in principle I agree with her about vegan food. But Darren fell into a stone cold silence. He seemed to consider a sip from his beer, then reconsidered.<\/p>\n \u201cI just hate the smell of burning flesh,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ron offered him a job at the bank he managed in town. Darren moved into the house a few weeks later. If he used to be sort of sturdy and loyal, now he had a brittle crust of sarcasm. His amiability was exaggerated, like a mask. He dressed up for work in smooth chinos and wraparound shades; he jangled his keys and drove his new Suburban. He also took pills labelled ANTIDEPRESSANTS. Over breakfast he listened to Melissa\u2019s chitchat, and I never saw him look more confused.<\/p>\n Sometimes he retreated to his room, and I smelled a strange wild odor from inside, like burning rope. In these moods he was possessed by a manic vigilance or a tension that seemed to squeeze the air around him.<\/p>\n The changes were like blank spaces, more than differences you could grasp or discuss. Ron didn\u2019t know how to handle them. He led conversations at the table with an expansiveness that included Melissa but seemed to ignore Darren\u2019s gloom, as if the darkness could be joshed away.<\/p>\n Then something went wrong at work. I didn\u2019t understand the problem, but Darren quit his job. He spent more time in his room, vanishing at night only to come home drunk, sometimes with bleeding cuts on his knuckles and face. He slept till noon and irritated Melissa with his glowering moods at the table. When Ron joked about it, Darren would explode.<\/p>\n It went on for weeks, this low-burning domestic war. One morning Darren made coffee in the kitchen while Melissa and Ron moved around in their robes. Melissa\u2019s voice rose and fell. She noticed out loud that Darren seemed \u201cdisinterested\u201d in everything, so she suggested joining a tennis club or \u201cmeeting a girl.\u201d Darren went to the garbage basket with a part from the coffee machine to tap out some used grounds. Instead of tapping, he started to slam the plastic piece into the side with a surge of fury. The plastic ripped apart and coffee scattered across the floor. Darren\u2019s expression never changed. He looked almost deadpan, as if it were a bleak joke.<\/p>\n \u201cUn<\/em>interested,\u201d he said at last. \u201cThat\u2019s what I am. Disinterested means something else.\u201d<\/p>\n Ron and Melissa stared.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll clean it up.\u201d<\/p>\n One salty morning while I scouted on the roof, I heard the front door open and saw Darren straining under his rucksack. He hefted it into his new Suburban, but instead of slamming the doors he clicked them carefully, quiet as a leopard. He wore a green t-shirt and combat boots. The truck motor rumbled. I watched his taillights float up the Eighth Street hill, and that was the last we saw of Darren for a long time.<\/p>\n There were rumors \u2014 updates from friends in San Diego, whispers of a job in Oceanside \u2014 but his absence depressed Ron. Melissa started to ply him with remedies like magnetic bracelets and Vitamin D. She bought him an air ionizer, a mysterious electronic machine that sat in the corner and hummed. Ron was used to approaching life with large-bellied gusto, and watching him sail into a fog of uncertainty over Darren was sad. Depression, or Darren\u2019s absence, became a shadow on the plaster-walled home.<\/p>\n I missed him, too. But I thought his absence made sense. Cats understand disharmony. In ourselves, in our surroundings \u2014\u00a0either way it\u2019s a reason to leave. We disappear when we feel sick, when we sense the approach of death, when we lose our minds, or when home feels, for whatever reason, deranged.<\/p>\n One night I spotted a new beast in the middle of Eighth Street that was like no rodent I had ever seen. It leaped from a neighbor\u2019s tree and snaked along the blacktop, sniffing around in a pool of orange streetlight. A sort of mouse or rat, but with a long midsection. It stank like something not-quite-wild. I knew most of the pets on our block, so I hesitated, in case it was a trick.<\/p>\n I should point out that I don\u2019t need<\/em> to hunt.\u00a0Ron keeps me well fed. But curiosity can be hard to resist. I bolted forward. When I landed the creature bit with its spiny teeth and the thin rank rodent smell grew strong. We rolled on the pavement. The beast howled and almost twisted away. We wrestled until I could grab with all fours and aim for its neck. I was fierce as a raging lion, furious at the thing for resisting but somehow delighted to savage it. The more it resisted the more aroused I felt. Fur flew. We hissed and at last I clenched my teeth on gristle and held the neck while the long, snaking body bucked. Soon its little claws quit pushing. Throat vibrations ceased. The carcass relaxed, and there was a taste of blood.<\/p>\n Ron came out to holler. Maybe we made too much noise. Before I knew what was happening he bundled me back to the claustrophobic fug of the house. But sitting on the sofa would have felt stupid with my blood up, so I darted to the garage to hide.<\/p>\n I heard Melissa\u2019s voice. \u201cWhat on earth happened?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe killed a ferret or something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh no<\/em>. It must have been somebody\u2019s pet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhose, though? I\u2019ve never seen a ferret around here.\u201d<\/p>\n The place next door, called the Seahorse House, is full of drifters and hippies. They run some kind of food charity. People move in and out all the time, and the next day at dawn I noticed a new volunteer sauntering out to the trucks in a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He was stoop-shouldered, with a mop of dark hair and a fringey beard. He climbed into a truck cab, on the passenger side. When the trucks returned a few hours later, I made a point of waiting by the door.<\/p>\n The shaggy man came in with the others but held himself like a beggar. At first he didn\u2019t talk. Something about his movements looked familiar, but I kept my distance until I managed a decent whiff of him. His smells were baffling, too \u2014\u00a0he was like the homeless people you find sometimes on the beach.<\/p>\n The gray-haired woman in charge of the house, whose name was Gail, said, \u201cWhat\u2019d you think of the work? Think you can stick with it? Floyd says you\u2019re a trained mechanic.\u201d<\/p>\n The man nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cWe need a mechanic, so you\u2019re welcome to live upstairs. But we need you to work<\/em>. Those grocery distributors you met today are real gentlemen, they keep old food aside for me every day. If we can\u2019t pick it up for some reason, because a truck won\u2019t start \u2014 or whatever \u2014 that\u2019s a problem. You want some coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n I ran over at the sound of his voice.<\/p>\n \u201cFloyd, pour him some coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe says that ferret this morning belonged to him,\u201d said Floyd.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat ferret?\u201d<\/p>\n I listened to them talk and rubbed my back against his pant leg, because the shaggy-haired stranger was Darren.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, where\u2019s the bathroom?\u201d he said at last. \u201cIs there one downstairs?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, over by the side door, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n I ran to wait there with my tail wrapped around my feet.<\/p>\n \u201cHey there,\u201d he said and patted my head.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s the next-door cat, he comes over for breakfast sometimes,\u201d Gail said from the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cHow you doin\u2019?\u201d Darren said in a whisper, careful not to say Oscar<\/em>. But I arched my back again and rubbed against his leg.<\/p>\n \u201cWe take in all kinds of strays,\u201d Gail explained.<\/p>\n His room at the Seahorse House had a clutter of other people\u2019s things, and the old paperbacks with cracked spines bore unfamiliar names: Aldous Huxley, Alan Watts. Yellow drapes cast a strange tint on the wooden floors. Darren kept his things in a rucksack. His personal items weren\u2019t orderly, but contained; he seemed to be camping out.<\/p>\n In the ashtrays Darren kept cigarettes rolled with his noxious, wild-smelling weed. He also kept a small stash of orange pills, which had replaced the ANTIDEPRESSANTS. Every afternoon he cleaned his weapon. This was a new item, something acquired on his wandering. It was a complicated-looking rifle that he could assemble and disassemble in quick deft motions. He oiled certain parts and wiped everything with a rag.<\/p>\n He did not go home, so I paid visits to the Seahorse House. Darren seemed to have two selves, like phases of the moon. One was the sauntering, helpful stray who checked the oil and the air on the trucks and folded himself into the cab every morning under the orange sodium light, a young man who wanted no credit but seemed to thrive in situations where his mechanical expertise, his tendency to rise before dawn, and his talent for executing orders had a clear benefit for other people. But another phase came on late in the day, after work. It was the nervous vigilant mood I\u2019d noticed before he left \u2014 a muted ferocity you wouldn\u2019t expect from his shambling appearance. He was like a man seized by an electric current. Sometimes he lit those wild-smelling cigarettes, and sometimes he woke up deep in the morning to pull the rucksack from his closet, assemble the rifle, and stand by the yellow-draped window, as if he expected company.<\/p>\n He kept the pills as well as the rifle hidden from Gail. She paid no attention. She roved the house like a dry-haired scarecrow and yelled out the windows at her \u201cboys,\u201d sometimes with a cackling laugh. \u201cI have M.S., honey, that\u2019s the only reason I smoke so much pot,\u201d she would say. There was discipline as well as generosity at the Seahorse House, but also flashes of diva behavior. On some mornings she was so stiff from her condition that she had to call for help on the toilet.<\/p>\n \u201cFloyd! Darren! Someone come here and help me wipe my ass!\u201d<\/p>\n But one night he stood guard while I sat on his bed. It was after eleven o\u2019 clock. Darren had assembled his weapon. We heard voices, music, and while I studied the wall to make sense of the noise I noticed a weird silence behind me. When I looked at Darren he had his eyes closed.\u00a0The barrel of his rifle was in his mouth. When his hand moved for the trigger, I twitched and stood, ready to run, and he opened his eyes. He put the rifle down and seemed to deflate.<\/p>\n Gail knocked on the door.<\/p>\n \u201cHey honey, I just wanted to \u2014\u201d She froze and wiped strands of gray hair from her face.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doin\u2019?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cJust sitting.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026 You protectin\u2019 us from harm?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe safety\u2019s on,\u201d Darren explained.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. Well.\u201d She pulled a wooden chair from his desk, moving carefully, and sat. \u201cWe just haven\u2019t seen too many terrorists in this part of the world since Patty Hearst.\u201d She cackled. \u201cYou in Iraq, or Afghanistan?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIraq.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd your head\u2019s goin\u2019 a hundred miles an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren nodded and wiped his mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need help?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll manage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou wanna go back and change the past,\u201d she said, hoping he might open up. \u201cYou remember people who didn\u2019t make it, you wanna go back and bring \u2019em home. You wanna go make everything right again.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren snorted. \u201cI just wanna go back<\/em>. That\u2019s the stupid part.\u201d He adjusted his hands on the rifle. \u201cPlace was awful, but I miss it.\u201d He rubbed his nose. \u201cI don\u2019t know how to live in California anymore. I have memories that don\u2019t belong in normal conversation. And I want \u2014 revenge on certain people.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know, honey. Believe me. My first husband died in Vietnam. People think because I\u2019m a dinosaur from the Sixties, I can\u2019t stand soldiers. That\u2019s not true. My husband stepped on a land mine at Khe Sanh. Simple as that \u2014 gone from this earth, baby, and nothing could bring him home.\u201d She looked fierce. \u201cYou\u2019re not the first vet we\u2019ve had in this house, but I see your rifle and I see those little pills, and I see you\u2019re livin\u2019 somewhere between helpless desire and horrible fear. I can get some friends in here tomorrow if you want. Ex-soldiers like you. I can get \u2019em here tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n He shrugged. The length of his hair, his changes since he first left home, and the fact that neighbors never talk to each other in this town had kept Gail from recognizing Darren. But she may have sensed his secret.<\/p>\n \u201cI take each stranger as they come, honey. I believe in person-to-person, like Mother Teresa. She\u2019s my role model. I smoke more pot than she did, but she\u2019s my role model.\u201d She cackled again. \u201cYou know what Mother Teresa said? \u2018Everyone who comes to me is Jesus in a distressing disguise.\u2019\u201d A toothy smile. \u201cOr the Swami Vivekananda, you hear of him? He said, \u2018Approach no one except as God.\u2019 Or, \u2018Want nothing, desire nothing.\u2019 You know what that means? It\u2019s not easy around here<\/u>. Where everybody thinks they deserve something. And he said: \u2018Want makes us beggars. But we are sons of the king.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n I licked my forepaw. Pure hippie nonsense.<\/p>\n But Gail kept up her patter. She had powers of persuasion that were rare in our neighborhood. \u201cI was born in 1942,\u201d she told him, \u201cand my daddy was a Pennsylvania farm boy who won a Purple Heart in France. He worked that farm with a bullet in his hip until he dropped dead of the pain. I\u2019ve seen too much<\/em> of war, not too little of it. So you can talk to me about it or not, I don\u2019t care, but this is a house of peace, honey, and I\u2019m gonna have to ask you to put that rifle away.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren nodded, at last, like a soldier taking an order. He dismantled his gun and stashed the pieces in his duffel bag and straightened up with a kind of pride. I could smell the gun oil from where I sat. He never uttered a word.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you honey,\u201d Gail said, and went out.<\/p>\n A few weeks later Melissa and Ron watched TV in the living room, wearing magnetic bracelets, unaware that Darren was out front, changing oil in a truck. From the window I saw him carry a soiled pan, a wooden rolling platform, and two quarts of Valvoline across a patch of Ron\u2019s manicured yard.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a hippie on the grass again,\u201d Melissa said.<\/p>\n Ron stretched his neck to look outside. \u201cDo they always have to park in front of the goddamn house?\u201d<\/p>\n Darren\u2019s schedule had kept them from seeing him. He woke up too early in the morning, and retired upstairs too early in the day, for Ron to notice him; and Melissa basically didn\u2019t care. I also had the feeling that Darren didn\u2019t want to be discovered until this moment. They watched him lie on the rolling platform in the street and half-disappear under the cab. Ron stepped out the door to start the sprinklers. Water bloomed in the yard. Darren twitched and rolled sideways before he managed to stand.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry!\u201d Ron called and shut off the water.<\/p>\n He sat down in a much better mood. \u201cThat felt good,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat person scares me,\u201d said Melissa.<\/p>\n One night there were noises in the garage \u2014 footsteps and rummaging \u2014 so I crouched in the kitchen and listened. After a while, Melissa came blearily down the stairs. She didn\u2019t hear the noises and put out bagels, jam, and a leftover pork chop. I stared at her, sort of frantic. She noticed nothing until she\u2019d settled into her food.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat was that?\u201d she said. \u201cYou have a friend in there, Oscar? Another ferret?\u201d<\/p>\n I glanced between her and the door. At last she stood up and padded across the linoleum.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you might as well go get it.\u201d<\/p>\n My haunches tensed. It was not<\/em> a rodent. She opened the door and said, \u201cCome on, what are you waiting for?\u201d \u2014\u00a0and for a second I looked straight into the electric-lit garage at Darren\u2019s bushy face. He grinned, but neither of us, I think, was quite prepared for the volume of Melissa\u2019s scream.<\/p>\n \u201cPut that thing down!\u201d she hollered. \u201cWho are<\/em> you, anyway? Why are you trying to creep us out? Ron!\u201d she yelled, running up the stairs in her sweatsuit. \u201cRo-on!\u201d She trotted up the stairs. \u201cWake up, honey, there\u2019s a hippie in the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n Darren held a surfboard, a long dusty blue thing with a layer of unclean wax. He seemed shaggier than usual. But the look on his face was amused more than depressed. He leaned the board against the kitchen wall to pat me on the head. And when he noticed that Melissa had left her meal on the table, he sat down to eat.<\/p>\n That was how Ron found him, leaning over a pork chop. The board stood like a disinterred relic next to the microwave. Ron had crept downstairs with a baseball bat, and there was blind anger in his eyes at the spectacle of the haggard stranger, eating their food in the pristine kitchen.<\/p>\n He cocked the bat. Darren leapt to his feet and grabbed a chair for defense.<\/p>\n \u201cDad<\/em>,\u201d he snapped. \u201cIt\u2019s all right. I just wanted my board.\u201d<\/p>\n He obviously wanted a great deal more than that. The electric tension in Darren\u2019s bones was like a steady hum. The anger in Ron\u2019s face drained away, but even before Darren smashed his chair on the floor I was darting for the other room. \u201cDON\u2019T THREATEN ME LIKE THAT,\u201d Darren shouted. \u201cDON\u2019T YOU FUCKING DO THAT TO ME.\u201d Splinters of wood scattered and he raved for a while and there was even a scuffle between the men. I crouched under the coffee table. There was sobbing, then silence.<\/p>\n \u201cRonnie?\u201d Melissa said from upstairs.<\/p>\n After a while Ron asked his son, in a bleary but irritated voice, \u201cWhere the hell have you been<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n For some time after the kitchen incident, Darren lived next door, with Gail, to work on the trucks. Her kitchen became a meeting place for grizzled veterans who came to eat breakfast with Darren and trade stories about the wars. Over omelettes and coffee, the Seahorse House became a gruffer, more intense-feeling place. It took some weight off of my memory of Darren with the rifle. He never did that again. But he was different. Ron said he needed to \u201cdetox,\u201d whatever that meant \u2014\u00a0something to do with the little orange pills \u2014\u00a0but for now he needed the presence of different people. Wherever he\u2019d disappeared to on his catlike excursion, Darren had become a stranger at home, and he behaved according to a newer, more peculiar set of rules.<\/p>\n One morning I followed him out to the beach and perched on a cinderblock wall while he surfed. The people of Los Angeles come here in herds on summer days, which to me looks ridiculous \u2014 humans lying around in a giant cat box. But when Darren dropped his towel and strapped the leash around his ankle I watched his long shape run<\/em> for the waves. He plunged through the darkened whitewash and waited for clean swells to rise, then paddled and stood, only to glide on the water with the odd grace of a pelican.<\/p>\n Sharp lights burned from the pier. The beach was uncrowded. I got bored and left. Strolling back to the house, I remembered Robyn\u2019s slide show from the family reunion, which ended with pictures that would be hard for any cat to forget. The old photos of reef destruction gave way to more recent snapshots from Robyn\u2019s trip, of coral colonies and colorful marine life. \u201cThose turtles cleaned up the reef so new coral could grow,\u201d she said, \u201cand today it looks like this. You can see harlequin shrimp, spotted pufferfish, raccoon butterflyfish, turtles, triggerfish, sturgeon, octopus, even moray eels. That blue fish is a humphead wrasse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWow,\u201d said Carol.<\/p>\n \u201cThe reef isn\u2019t back to where it was before the hurricane. Overfishing has damaged the populations of predators who would clean up the starfish and the algae. Coral bleaching is also an issue. But overall it\u2019s amazing how quickly these systems bounce back, if we let them.\u201d<\/p>\n The humphead wrasse was a meaty, stupid-looking fish with electric blue skin. The harlequin shrimp resembled a spotted cherry blossom. What she called a triggerfish had a bulldog look and a triangle of yellow war paint by the tail. The whole reef seemed to tilt on a knife-edge between life and death, and to me there was something elegant about the way it had grown in such uncertain, ravenous harmony: razor-jawed fish all shimmering in the tide, hungry for each other but afraid for their lives. Milt and slimy litters of sea life slipped on currents between light and shadow, while poisonous fingers of anemones waved with a fat, ripe, almost sexual softness.<\/p>\n \u201cLook at him, he\u2019s completely entranced,\u201d said Carol.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you like that, Oscar?\u201d Robyn said.<\/p>\n \u201cI think he\u2019s purring.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Michael Scott Moore channels veteran experiences through a wily cat as an Iraq war vet tries to readapt to life in Calaveras, California.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":452,"featured_media":28244,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,51],"tags":[3021,305,3019,3020,886,3022,3023,3018],"coauthors":[3017],"class_list":["post-28240","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-tmr-weekly","tag-army","tag-baghdad","tag-george-w-bush","tag-ieds","tag-iraq-war","tag-marines","tag-rifle","tag-veterans","entry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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