Instead, he turned his fur translucent and his guts see-through like those deep ocean fish, and today he slinks quieter than a whisper through the Alleghenys. He sits with his pride in the mountaintops, laughing at my neighbors’ Facebook sightings and the stuffed animal-cute mascot at the State College campus bookstore. Laughing at mine and Pap’s asses freezing in the snow, our rifles aimed at nothing.
Santa put ammo in my stocking again this year, so each dawn over winter break Pap nudges me awake with his boot and drives us out to the woods. Don’t know why we leave so early when all we do is crawl around then sit real still. Hours and hours waiting for the Nittany’s certainly-alive bobcat cousin, unlucky enough to inherit bright auburn fur and one permit per hunter status each open season. I snort the dribbles from my red-cold nose and swallow the salty phlegm. Pap loves hollering that only sinners spit. I try not to think about Penny, our Maine Coon barn cat. Past few weeks, she’s been scratching at the front door, day and night. When the blizzard struck on Christmas Eve, Pap still refused. Said indoor cats evolved weak from weak humans, and would I do Penny such a disservice?
Belly-down in the snow, Pap pinches when I sniffle too loud, but his own stories to pass the time don’t break the rules. How he bagged the 8-point whitetail that decorates our hearth on his last bullet, where he nabbed the wild turkey defrosting for New Year’s Eve dinner out by Shellhammer’s Creek. When the Wild Turkey on his breath stings my nostrils too much, I interrupt, brave questions that’ll keep him distracted mad, like: did the animals feel anything as breath left their bodies? I let my voice carry. Let my arm tie-dye purple yellow black. Teachers won’t see under my flannel next week, and what’s a little bruising for me when the bobcats have their hide to worry about?
Penny’s food bowl was full this morning. Each kibble exactly as I poured it the night before. Maybe she’s in cahoots with the Nittany, hiding in plain sight with a clan that offers her warmth. Pap yanks my ear, points out a wispy short tail and speckled back paws behind the hemlock. Release the safety, line the sights, he hisses, spittle melting the snow under his chin. Am I too weak, he asks, to take aim and shoot?
