A Launch Delayed

Today is the day I will finish correcting the proof of my latest book. So that I am not disturbed during the day, my mother has taken it upon herself to take my car to be serviced. However, she soon returned to the house to announce, "Your car won't start for me."

"The it probably won't start for me either."

"But you drive it, so you probably do something automatically without thinking that I don't know about."

The battery had been put back in my car a couple of days earlier after being up on blocks for three years. I pointed this out as I rose from my desk. "I'll see what I can do." I got into the car and I turned the ignition key; my car started right up.

"What did you do?"

"I turned the key."

"So did I."

"Perhaps not enough."

I returned to my room to resume work. My mother was back a few minutes later. "I can't release the hand brake."

"This is like 'Fawlty Towers.' Shall I beat the car with a shrub?"

"That's it! Put a bit of stick about!" That was from a different BBC series entirely. I marched out to my car once again.

"Have you made any progress on your book today?"

"Not in the last fifteen minutes!"

I seated myself in my car and released the hand brake.

"How did you do that?"

"I pushed the button."

"So did I."

"Perhaps not enough."

Leaving nothing to chance, I patiently remained outside to watch my mother slowly back my car our of its parking space and eventually drive away. It was now 8:25am. Whatever the rest of the day may have in store fills me with breathless anticipation.

She isn't even from Barcelona.

"¿Qué?"

Second Chance

I first saw Beka at a pet supply store in Strawberry in mid-March, about six weeks after we arrived in Sausalito. The Tongilava Pack had killed my oldest cat Dylan as soon as I had put him in my room with them. 'Ono had disappeared a couple of days later. I was still grieving for Dylan, my old hunting buddy, when I saw Beka. She had the same gray tabby pattern on the top of her head as Dylan and his brother Rhade, which brought me to tears. She was still in the store a couple of weeks later when I stopped by for more supplies. It was then that I was told that she was being sponsored at the store by a second-chance, no-kill animal shelter. Something else I had seen somewhere earlier that day had read "second chance," I forget what. I had a good, long cry in the car. I came home and told my mother about Beka. Initially she had been less than enthusiastic about my bringing four dogs and three cats into her house, but now she asked me if I wanted to bring Beka home. I was still shocked at how the Tongilava Pack had turned on Dylan, but I attributed that to their being stressed from the 24-hour trip and ending up in a strange place, and with 'Ono gone, Haisheng was now the only cat. Haisheng loved the dogs, especially Bette and Denzel, whom she would cuddle with and sometimes bathe, but that wasn't the same thing; she didn't have another cat to bather her. My mother said that Beka would be her early birthday present to me, so we drove to the store and brought Beka home.

After the experience of 'Ono disappearing, I determined to keep Beka in my room for several weeks to be sure that she knew that it was her new home. I allowed Haisheng to come and go as she pleased, but she never stayed out for more than a few minutes at a time. In May I learned that 'Ono was very much alive and showing up on a neighbor's security camera, and by the end of the month I trapped her. Again, I wanted to keep 'Ono in my room for several weeks before allowing her out again, so in time I decided that the Fourth of July would be Beka's and 'Ono's Independence Day.

During her eight days of freedom, Beka meowed loudly and trailed behind me every morning as I took the Tongilava pack to the backyard. I always closed the gate behind me, of course, before letting the pack off their leashes, and this also stopped Beka from following me into the yard. Yesterday, on the ninth day, Beka hopped the fence to bypass the gate, and too young, too trusting, she dropped down into the yard to follow me. There was no nearby cover for her, she was in the open and exposed. One of the dogs spooked her, she ran, and the pack gave chase. In seconds, Beka was fatally wounded, and she died with me standing over her at the hospital less than two hours later.
As I write this, Beka is on my bed. The dogs and cats sniff her cold, motionless body from time to time. We usually have a party in the morning; I hand-feed them treats as I call them by name before I let them out for the day. There is no party this morning. The dogs are subdued. Bette sits next to Beka, head hung down, looking away from me. They know that Beka is dead, they remember that they attacked her, and they sense that I am sad. How they correlate these facts in their wolf brains, I can only speculate. It is time to let them out and to greet the new day.