People up in the North end of the West Hills can't keep cats around. They can have them, of course, but they have to keep them inside or they disappear. They'll tell you it's because of coyotes, and it's true that coyotes do live in the park, along with other things. There are owls and bobcats and small black bears, and the feral people, of course... most people prefer to call them "homeless encampments", because it sounds nicer. Easier to digest, more manageable. And there are the actual homeless encampments, on the fringes of the forest.
But everybody who lives there and anybody who's listened to the stories, especially the stories the scared old men tell when they come tumbling out of the woods and into town to panhandle for enough fortified malt liquor to pass out in the grassy planting strips of the inner-city neighborhoods until the police to come and take them to a cell overnight. They talk about one of their number they call Old Weird Ben, only they say Old Weird Ben doesn't camp with them. They don't know where he camps, but they come across him sometimes, and even though he seems kindly enough something about him scares them. He has a fondness for cats, they say, but the way they say it makes it sound like it isn't something nice.
So this time I'm talking about, I might have told you about it before... my friend was out walking, and he got a wild hair to walk up one of the old abandoned roads that leads into the park, just to see what's there. He hops the barricade and strolls on up the road, which is all cracked with moss and grass growing on it, on its way to being reclaimed by the forest, and rounds a corner to see a bunch of old foundations. He'd happened on one of the old subdivisions, either one that got torn down or one of the ones that never got finished. As he got closer to the foundations, he noticed that there were little tin cans on them, everywhere. Then he saw a cat. And another cat. And they started coming at him, just heading right for him, and one after another joined in until he said there were probably close to two dozen cats running toward him.
At that point he just turned and ran. He looked back once after he rounded the corner, and didn't see any cats, but kept running all the way back to the main road just to be sure. He won't go back and he won't tell me where it was at, but I think I have a pretty good idea.
What I have no idea about is what on earth Old Weird Ben wants with all those cats.
But everybody who lives there and anybody who's listened to the stories, especially the stories the scared old men tell when they come tumbling out of the woods and into town to panhandle for enough fortified malt liquor to pass out in the grassy planting strips of the inner-city neighborhoods until the police to come and take them to a cell overnight. They talk about one of their number they call Old Weird Ben, only they say Old Weird Ben doesn't camp with them. They don't know where he camps, but they come across him sometimes, and even though he seems kindly enough something about him scares them. He has a fondness for cats, they say, but the way they say it makes it sound like it isn't something nice.
So this time I'm talking about, I might have told you about it before... my friend was out walking, and he got a wild hair to walk up one of the old abandoned roads that leads into the park, just to see what's there. He hops the barricade and strolls on up the road, which is all cracked with moss and grass growing on it, on its way to being reclaimed by the forest, and rounds a corner to see a bunch of old foundations. He'd happened on one of the old subdivisions, either one that got torn down or one of the ones that never got finished. As he got closer to the foundations, he noticed that there were little tin cans on them, everywhere. Then he saw a cat. And another cat. And they started coming at him, just heading right for him, and one after another joined in until he said there were probably close to two dozen cats running toward him.
At that point he just turned and ran. He looked back once after he rounded the corner, and didn't see any cats, but kept running all the way back to the main road just to be sure. He won't go back and he won't tell me where it was at, but I think I have a pretty good idea.
What I have no idea about is what on earth Old Weird Ben wants with all those cats.