Night Town: City Coyote--Shifting Shape
Another night down from the hills.
To the quiet place, the hard wood rough stone dwellings for the twoleggeds with
fewer metal rollers. There are still metal rollers, mind you, after all it is
still the city. But fewer for me to battle with. Why do I come to the place
where more of them are? Them, and barking, howling cousins. Spoiled brats. But
I can’t deny my envy of them. I must be a softy, because I resolved not the
harm those cousins, the close ones. Yeah, I’m the sucker with ethics, though
the twoleggeds like to paint us a different way, like pests. Easy to say when
you stole from us. I haven’t ended a twolegged pup in more years than I can
count on a paw. Three paws! I kid. But the damn things are so obnoxious, thinking
they can out-howl and coo us sometimes! Our bad reputation is unfair.
When I’ve been up in the hills near
the hard-walled dwellings sometimes I see sharp-toothed sinewy cousins. They
wear a neck-chain that I’m certain the twoleggeds gave, to protect. They don’t
protect us fluffytail jokers like they do sharptooth cousin. But I respect
sharptooth, and always keep my distance. Once, I was up on the hill near the
wood structure (no dwelling) with the nighttime daylights. I saw sharptooth
cousin. No pups, no mate, just hunting as he does. Majestic. I crouched,
waiting for him to pass.
It's quiet, must be middle of dark
by this time. Few twoleggeds out. I’ve had a beastly pain in my paw, and I
think it’s a splinter from a hard wood stone dwelling or its parts. I’ll have
to get at it when there’s opportunity. But there hasn’t been. I’ll rest just
after first light.
Black-clad twoleggeds stumble,
trying to decide who will drive their metal roller, I imagine. Twolegged cousins
are really a show. And I thought us fluffytail jokers were dramatic! I keep my
distance, as with many. They’re usually erratic.
My growling stomach calls to me. I
spot the lone opossum and take them down. So much better meat than that
oversalted, strange plastic-tasting mush the two-leggeds seem to favor, that
they throw in the bins. Up in the hills, hunting is easier. Why do I come here,
then? So many dangerous metal rollers, disgusting smells, and of course them
trying to get rid of us. But the dazzle of the nighttime daylights, the hum and
boom of those noises the twoleggeds produce from their machines, a melody so
different from winged kin and insect prey soil neighbors. I can’t deny my
attraction. Though twolegged games and roads baffle me. Even how spoiled cousin
got their lot in life. And sharptooth’s mini cousin too, yowling away like a
young sovereign when I carry them away as a snack.
Parents tell all of us the story about
how long long ago, we evolved from Old Man and Old Woman. It doesn’t add up to
me, but I don’t ask questions. I’ve heard other mates tell that we were once a
whole band of twoleggeds, who morphed into fluffytail jokers to escape other
twoleggeds. This is the story that sounds most right to me. But I let Parents
keep their story, because contradicting them wouldn’t be appropriate. Us and
twoleggeds, the way we grin, laugh and joke…I think we are closer than we
realize. Even though, from our kind, the feeling of wanting to separate is mutual.
A light flashes on from a dwelling.
A metal wall opens. My skin stretches, sensation squeezed into an instant.
“Anybody out there?”
I cough, walking briskly.
“Oh, just the neighbors out for a
walk.”
The air is heavy, and insect prey
soil neighbors have told that sky water will come in a few hours.
But cousins can’t do that can
they?
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