i wanted to be human and was supposed to be, I typed. but there was a mistake, i miscalculated the formula. my species is pure energy. we live as one, much like the drops in your ocean. humans should not know about us, but i believe in the goodness of most people, the goodness in you, and i am stuck here, i miss home and i do not want to die, so i need your help getting to yellowstone national park by july 21 at 9:01 a.m., coordinates 44.4605 degrees north, 110.8281 degrees west. please. please.
I typed please twice for extra politeness.
Digesting my message, Olive puffed out her cheeks with air, and then squashed her face with her palms.
I added, i hope this is not asking for too much. please.
“I’ll help you, Leonard,” Olive said uneasily. “Of course I’ll help. It’s just that I still have so many questions, and—” She snapped her gaze to me, dark hair whipping. “Wait, should I still call you Leonard? Do you have another name?”
leonard is nice, I told her honestly.
“Good,” she said. “So, we have to go to Yellowstone specifically?”
yellowstone is my pickup point. my entire species must collect me. they have other stops along the way, to collect other travelers on other planets. they will know to find me at yellowstone, nowhere else.
Olive bit her lip. “The thing is, I’m only eleven, so I don’t really have a car . . . or know how to drive, or even really know how to ride the bus across the country, so . . . I’ll have to think of something. But I will think of something, okay?”
She didn’t sound too convinced.
Strangely, I still had faith in her.
We pulled more blankets into the fort, the three of us huddled together. Stanley let out a gigantic snore, and I curled into a loose ball, resting my muscles. It was actually rather nice, falling asleep in a tent. As a ranger, I would’ve spent a great deal of time beneath a canvas sky at night, and in the daytime identifying wildflowers, cooking stew.
“Hey, Leonard?” Olive said, very awake, just as I was drifting off. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll keep your secret . . . And I wanted you to know, I think it’s sad that you didn’t get to be human. You would’ve made a really nice one.”
Silently, I told her thank you.
“I’m not sure how to ask this,” she said. “Are there, like, any human things I can get for you? Anything you really want? Just think about it.”
I didn’t have to think about it. I already knew. Gathering the last bit of my strength for the night, I waddled to the keyboard.
And I typed: raincoat.
It had a hood and little black buttons. The yellow material was stiff—stiffer than I thought it’d be—but once Olive slipped it over my forelegs, down across my back, I found that I could move quite nicely. Gazing at myself in the bathroom mirror, it occurred to me that I looked somewhat like Olive in the flood. Our raincoats matched, almost exactly.
“I hope it’s what you had in mind,” Olive said as I twirled on the sink basin, examining myself from all angles. It fit snugly around me, stopping right before my tail. “I got it from Mrs. Kowalski down the street. She has this tiny dog who doesn’t use it anymore.”
Would I have preferred an umbrella? Would I have liked to clasp my human fingers around the handle and skip in rubber boots through the rain? Of course. But this was the next best thing—and I must say that it meant a lot, for Olive to deliver it so quickly. It was barely ten o’clock, the morning after our talk, and plans were already in motion.
“So here’s the way I see it,” Olive said as I jumped down from the sink. She was perched on the edge of the tub, bare feet tapping the tile floor. “I’ve been up all night thinking about how to get you to Yellowstone, and I realized that I can’t do it by myself—not without driving a car and breaking the law. I’m going to have to ask Norma for help, which means coming up with a good excuse to go.”
I nodded, ears forward. This seemed reasonable.
“But there’s a catch,” Olive said, grimacing. “She has this huge event on July eighteenth. It’s a Save the Sea Turtles thing, and it’s a really big deal for her job. Turtle Beach puts on a humongous festival for a week ahead of time; the whole town comes together. Norma has a bunch of planning to do ahead of time. And I know she won’t miss it, no matter what I tell her, so . . . Could you wait that long?”
Could I? Theoretically, yes. If we left the evening of the eighteenth, that gave us two full days of travel, plus the nights—plenty of time. But waiting until nearly the end of July was risky. What if Norma said she’d take us, and then changed her mind? What if something happened to me in the meantime?
“Waiting could be dangerous,” Olive said, like she was reading my thoughts. “But based on Google maps, it’s only thirty-four hours in a car, and I honestly can’t think of another way. Even if I got you to Yellowstone much earlier, what would I do? I couldn’t stay with you for the month, and I couldn’t leave you there—not with all the wild animals. Bears and house cats aren’t usually friends.” She twisted her lips. “I could tell Norma you’re an alien, and that we need to get you home sooner . . . but we’ve never had a conversation about anything serious. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. What if she thinks I’m making it all up? Or that I’ve lost it? What if she sends me back to my mom, because she doesn’t want to talk it through? And if that happens, what would happen to you? I couldn’t live with myself if—”
Just then, there was a knock at the bathroom door, and the rasp of Norma’s voice behind it: “Olive? You on the phone?”
Olive bolted up from the tub. “Um, yes! Yes, I am! I’m talking on the phone.”
Norma paused on the other side of the door. “Is it your mom?”
“Yep! My mom!”
“All right, then. Tell her I said hello.”
“I will!” Olive said, much louder than necessary.
“Remember we’re leaving for the aquarium in a minute.”
“Yep!”
The two of us listened for Norma’s footsteps, clomping on the hardwood, back into the kitchen. Olive released a gusty breath. “That was too close. Norma’s one thing, but in public, if someone catches us talking, it could turn out really bad. Do you remember E.T.? I don’t want the government to come and take you away, or study you, or . . . worse.”
Worse? Immediately, I thought of every warning I’d ever received. Never trust a human.
“The raincoat’s fine,” Olive said, “but we can’t talk like this outside of the house, okay?” She leaned in, adjusting the stiff fabric. “Here, you missed a button.”
I wore my raincoat to the aquarium, partly because I looked quite snazzy in it. It also added a shield to my fur, protecting me from danger.
“Leonard, my friend,” Q said, greeting us in the lobby. “Wowee, that is some outfit.”
“He’s normal!” Olive practically shouted, then lowered her voice. “I mean, lots of cats wear outfits.”
“’Course,” Q said, like this was normal indeed. “Now, who wants to feed some stingrays?”
All around us were tourists, cameras swinging from their necks. I noticed that quite a few of them were looking at me—a cat in a raincoat, on a leash, in an aquarium. I considered that maybe I should be making a better effort to blend in. Would these people really try to hurt me if they understood what I was? If they knew about my home planet? Just in case, I curled up, lifting one of my hind legs straight into the air, and proceeded to groom myself—licking my fur in swift strokes, nibbling at the soft underside of my belly. This was quite difficult to do in a raincoat, but I still managed, like a real cat would.
Olive gently pulled at my leash, and together we wove through the growing crowd. Q led us into the shark tunnel, where we paused to find Steve and Martin, circling rhythmically above us. “I’ve worked here every day for twenty years,” Q said, “and these guys still amaze me.”
Out of curiosity I rose onto my hind legs, pressing my front paws against the tank, avoiding a nose bump this time. The glas
s extended all the way to the floor, so I had a clear view of everything—fine-grained sand, mountains of coral, fish darting in schools. They were speaking to one another, too: changing their shape as a group, communicating with body language and sound. Through the glass, I could hear them croaking, purring, popping.
The whole school noticed me then, a hundred sets of eyes gazing in my direction. I flexed my back, standing taller. Maybe they’d never seen a cat. Or maybe they identified something different about me, something not quite ordinary. Because gradually they swam over, until they were inches from the glass. I was vaguely aware of the humans around me, turning to one another and whispering, but mostly I was trying not to be rude. Earlier in the week, I’d witnessed Q speaking to the fish; I figured that I should do the same.
You, they were asking. You, you, you?
Hardly the most intelligent conversation, but I responded in kind: purring through the glass, bobbing my head. Yes, I said. Yes, yes, yes.
Here? they said. Here, here?
Yes! I said. Yes, yes.
This continued for, oh, I don’t know. Two minutes? Three? Not long in the scope of things, but soon there was a gentle tap on my back. Olive bent down to my level.
“People are staring,” she said nervously, picking me up and striding away, my neck craned over her shoulder. Someone flashed a camera. Someone waved. I told myself that a cat shouldn’t wave back.
“I’m serious, Leonard,” Olive said in the staff room. “We have to be much more careful. People can never find out about you.” She plopped us down, eyes wide. It took her a long while to say her next words, but when she did, they ran together, fast and blurted. “Can-you-talk-to-fish?”
Startled, my whiskers twitched. Was it really so extraordinary? Hadn’t Q spoken with them, too? I nodded, then readjusted my raincoat, which had slipped to the side.
“Every time I think that things can’t get any stranger . . .” Olive said, leaning against the wall.
Q knocked on the staff room door, strutting in. “Leonard, my man, you’re about to cause a riot. They love you out there.” He paused, thinking. “We need to get this cat a T-shirt. Make him a real employee. Leonard, I’m telling you, you’re going places.”
So we went to the gift shop, where Olive selected an extremely small size, fit for a human toddler. On it was a stingray, coasting through blue waters, which was very appealing, indeed.
It was hours before we could speak privately, back at the beach house. Norma was lighting citronella torches on the porch, swatting away the mosquitoes; my ears were picking up the sound of marsh grass dancing gently in the summer breeze; and Olive kept checking over her shoulder. When we were in the kitchen—alone except for Stanley—she brought out the computer and set it on the table. The keys lit up.
“Do you think you can speak to all animals?” Olive asked quietly. “Like Doctor Dolittle?”
I hopped onto the table and quietly pressed the keys. q talked to fish. who is do little.
“Oh,” Olive said. “Q was pretending. And Doctor Dolittle is in a movie. He can talk to animals like you. It’s just, it’s amazing. More than amazing. Have you talked to Stanley?”
At the sound of his name, Stanley began panting contentedly, the side of his tongue drifting from his mouth. His lips were black on the outside and pink underneath. The birds, he told me again, eyes flickering.
stanley says much, I typed.
Olive perched on the edge of a chair. “What does he—”
“Got Chinese,” Norma said, thumping into the kitchen, takeout bags in hand. She stopped short by the fridge, eyebrow raising at the computer—then at us. “What’s all this?”
“Nothing,” Olive said quickly, slamming the laptop shut.
“Because it looked like—”
“Mmm, eggrolls. Do you want to watch some TV? I think there’s a new movie on Channel Seven, and we should . . . Yeah, let’s watch that.”
It took a long time for my heart rate to settle back down. They began viewing a program about whales, and I curled into the corner of the couch, wondering how long it would take for Olive to tell Norma about Yellowstone. How would she say the words?
“So, how’s it working with Q?” Norma asked. “He’s a good buddy of mine, but you can . . .” She cleared her throat. “You can always tag along with me and the sea lions.”
“Thanks,” Olive said, biting into an eggroll. I could tell she was distracted. She chewed and chewed. “Um, are you going anywhere this summer?”
Norma frowned, resting her fork by the rice. “Come again?”
“Like . . . are you going on any trips?”
“Don’t plan to,” she said, shaking her head. “But my truck’s out of the shop—and my sidecar’s almost fixed up, too, if you want to hitch a ride somewhere local. Hilton Head? Kiawah Island? We could . . . visit some of my old fishing spots, maybe? Only local, though—I think we’ve got a good thing going on here. Wouldn’t want to mess up the routine.”
Olive opened her mouth several times to respond, but she didn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. It hit me then, in a way that I was unprepared for: the burden I’d placed on her. How much I was asking.
And how little I was giving in return.
I had wanted to become a ranger, in large part, to help humans. Back on my home planet, I’d seen an image broadcast to the hive by a previous visitor to Earth: a picture of an old, tattered photo ripped from a 1940s magazine. In it was a man with rugged brown shorts and a hat that shielded him from the sun. He was guiding a group of humans—somewhat heroically—through a wildflower meadow. Immediately, I could imagine myself in that role: Introducing people to the wonders of the natural world. Running my fingers over the tops of marigolds. Explaining pollination as the petals tickled my skin.
Had I lost sight of this? Stay undetected, stay alive—that was my focus since my arrival on Earth. I needed to travel home, back to my community and the infinite calmness of safety. But things were shifting. Shouldn’t I do something for Olive in return?
I just couldn’t think what.
Norma ate the rest of the eggrolls, then threw out the paper plates after Stanley vacuumed up the last bits of rice, lick by lick, with his enormous tongue. It was a brisk night, cooler than most, and the four of us lumbered to the beach, Olive dangling a flashlight in her hand. Moonlight pulsed over the sidewalk.
“You know about ghost crabs?” Norma said, searching the sand. “Got those funny little eyes.”
“And they can change color to match their surroundings,” Olive said, trudging up the boardwalk steps. “They eat sea turtle eggs, too.”
“That’s right. We had to protect the turtle nests much more than normal this year.”
“When do they hatch? The turtles?”
“Soon,” Norma said. “We just checked on them yesterday, and I’d say about a week. It’ll be here before you know it.”
Olive switched on her flashlight—the beam racing across the boardwalk—and suddenly I was chasing it, pouncing with excessive force, scrambling to catch the thin film of light. Did I think I would actually catch it? Perhaps part of me did. Stanley, on the other hand, was more interested in the seagulls that—every so often—dived into the grasses alongside us. I asked him to join in the yellow-light hunt (I would have felt less silly with company), but he just couldn’t be bothered.
When we reached the beach, Olive slipped deeper and deeper into the dark. I followed her, of course—largely because we are friends, but also because, well, I was attached to a leash and had little choice in the matter. Norma and Stanley lagged behind as Olive and I tiptoed closer and closer to the waves. The sand was gritty underneath my paws, becoming wetter by the second, and I let out a solemn but pressing meow, asking Olive: Can we stop here?
Somehow she understood me, turning back to bend to my level. When we were eye to eye, I placed my paws on her knees and extended my face toward hers. “You know,” she said very quietly, so only I could hear, “standing in the ocean is pr
etty human. You don’t have to go in far at all, and I’ll be right here, but you should experience it. I was thinking that I could give you human lessons, while I figure out how to tell Norma about Yellowstone.”
Human lessons? The idea was intriguing. Maybe she is right about the ocean, I thought, my fur puffing slightly. Yet my mind brought me back to the flood—all alone in that tree—and I remembered just how much danger I was in that night. How Olive saved me then and would surely save me now, if the occasion called for it.
So I dropped my paws from her knees. My leash extended quite far, but Olive never strayed; she remained very much by my side as we stepped into the ocean. The first sweep hit my paws in a bubbly burst. Cold. It was colder than I expected for such a warm climate, but the feeling was not altogether terrible. In fact, it was refreshing.
Olive said, “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” And I flexed my toes, sand dimpling beneath me. With my night vision I could see the ocean’s never-ending plane, extending on and on. Perhaps this is as close as humans will come to infinity: gazing out at the sea, toes in the water, feeling a part of something huge, yet being very, very small themselves.
I’m not sure how long we stood there. Eventually Stanley approached us, rolling his whole body in the shallow waters, then shaking out his great mane. He was at home here—in this town, in this ocean—and I wondered if I would ever have that much comfort anywhere. If I could give myself up entirely to a landscape and a moment and a feeling.
“It’s getting late,” Norma said after a while. “Should we head back?”
So we walked back, our reflections nothing but shadows on the ground—and that night I made a list at Olive’s request, typing in the dim glow of the turtle night-light.
Human Lessons
1. Go to a real movie theater
2. The creation and enjoyment of poetry
Leonard (My Life as a Cat) Page 7
