Cats, cops and me
The Garfield cop stops me on the side of River Drive, asking
me why I’m poking my nose into the old car lots that have been in ruins for so
long it would need an archeologist to find out when the last used car got sold
here.
Feral cats roam here as will, hunting the vermin that make
their way up from the frigid water of the river in search of food, stark and
careful hunters that don’t even rustle the leaves when they move.
The cop thinks I’m stealing something when there is nothing
left to steal in the vacant hulls of buildings that used to house salesmen, now
rotted out by time, windows gone, wiring and plumbing stolen, with only the
smell of urine inside.
It’s just me and the cats and the cop here, all in some
strange cycle of life, where tooth and nail are the only defense we have, and I
am searching in the cracks of this world, not for food, but for a wandering,
homeless uncle who insists life isn’t worth living and needs to end it with another
plunge into the river.
I caught him the near the Wall Street Bridge a few months
ago easing down the embankment to the deep-water side, a man so determined I
had to bribe him back with a promise of cigarettes and booze, disappointing him
when I delivered only the first.
A few weeks ago, on Thanksgiving – when I could not trust to
leave him alone – I took him south with me to his brother’s house near the
shore, too far for him to reach the river before the cops stopped him, and
wondered why he had no coat or shoes, he vanishing almost as soon as we got
back with me searching for him ever since, crawling through these dark and
dismal places for glimpses of the water below where I am almost convinced I
will see his body floating; I never do. I see the cats striding over the rotting
logs and through the urine-scented ruins, not my uncle.
I want to tell the cop I’ve come on a mission of mercy; he
would not believe me.
Who spend their waking hours searching for someone already
dead, a body still breathing, heart still beating, mind lost in a haze of doubt
in despair, just me and the cats and the vermin, me cats, the vermin and the
cop, and a look of guilt I wear for having let the man escape me so I must search,
guilt for having stolen his money long ago as a kid, and so always repaying a
debt I can never fully repay.
The how and why is as much as mystery to me, having grown up
scared of the man I hunt for now, hiding from him the way he hides from me,
fearing that he might – like this cop – discover some flaw in me I know is
there yet do not recognize; I need to find his body, breathing or not, to cart
it off, keep it safe from this tooth and claw world where only the cats
survive.
Comments
Post a Comment