Rewilding

Losing him to find myself

Archer and Kyle, brothers through and through.

I thought I saw Kyle this morning. There was a reflection in the sliding glass door. He was there for just a moment, and then gone.

Kyle’s been gone for more than a week. It’s been so long that Archer no longer meows for his missing brother. He simply stares out the window, awaiting Kyle’s return. When they might sit in a stray Amazon box to groom each other, or roughhouse throughout the house while everyone else is asleep.

I’m not a cat person. Not even a pet person. In fact, I’ve always said that anyone living under my roof has to have a job. There is no free lunch. My wife and I work. My kids are students, and have chores. So why not the animals too? So far, the chickens feed us their eggs, and the goldfish we got one Christmas lives in a hydroponic garden, fertilizing our kitchen herbs.

When my daughter wanted a dog, she drafted a powerpoint that succinctly built the case for a rat terrier to help with our persistent rodent problem. Rats love chicken feed. I almost caved until I found out the dog would cost $2,000, So, I pivoted to a cat.

I say cat, because that was the plan. But there were two of them. Brothers from the animal shelter. Inseparable. Disgustingly cute. So cute, in fact, that my dad logic melted at the thought of seeing them separated. We ended up walking out with both, my kids beaming, me blushing.

But I stuck to my guns. The cats were employed as our resident mousers, although they mostly caught lizards–leaving little squishy presents on the rug. They did catch one rat. So proud with their prey that they brought it inside—alive. My wife was not impressed.

As rodent exterminators in training, this meant that they had to live—at least part of the time—outside. I honestly didn’t know there was any other kind of cat. In my mind, animals are always supposed to be outside. Why do I want them pooping in a box that I have to clean when they could be fertilizing my backyard, suburban regenerative agriculture style?

Santa Archer

Aren’t all animals supposed to be outside? Supposed to be wild?

Kyle clearly agreed with me. Eager to go outdoors every chance he had, he would sneak between my legs at sunrise when I slid the sliding door open. Darting into the bushes, rolling around in the grass, Kyle loved being in nature. Some mornings, he would sun himself in the first rays of dawn, flicking his tail with pride, his grey and white fur with that subtle black tiger stripe. Kyle knew who he was. He had the wild in him.

Archer, on the other hand, is the nervous brother. He seldom goes out, even when I leave the door open for hours so that his brother can play. And when he does venture into the yard, it’s only to check in with his more adventurous sibling. Archer is a homebody. Startled by the lightest sound. Bolting under the bed when there is a knock at the door. He is afraid. A fraidy-cat.

Archer is also a sound sleeper. He stretches out long and vulnerably several times a day. He even drools a little when he naps, so knocked out, he forgets to swallow. When Kyle slumbers, he always has one ear up flicking back and forth like an auditory periscope listening for danger. Kyle is alert even when his body is most at rest.

This morning, I thought I saw Kyle. I was looking for him. I was rooting for him. I was missing him. Hoping he’d return, my wild, outdoor, grey and white with the subtle tiger-stripe. I was hoping he would appear to let me know that all was right in the world, and that he had left because he just needed to be free, to be wild.

My heart hopes a little old lady is keeping him against his will to warm her lonely heart. Humoring her, he’s getting fat on canned tuna and plates of milk. And when the opportunity arises, maybe when she opens the door for a neighbor raising money or a Jehovah’s Witness, Kyle will slink between her legs and escape back into the wild, and return to our porch ready for a head scratch or two.

I thought I saw Kyle, but I suppose it was only a reflection. Or maybe it was his ghost.

Or maybe it was Archer, the scaredy-cat, considering his own reflection in the glass, hoping to gain the courage to re-wild himself. But we both know that I will never let him out again. He’ll forever be unemployed. I’ve taken away the job I gave them both, in order to protect the one I have left. Now he’s just half-wild.

It begs the question. Can we be half-wild? Choosing nature when it suits us? Or staying inside when the danger looms? Or do we just have to take the risk that the coyotes might eat us? The price of being wild means we can’t drool in our sleep.

I think Kyle would say he gets to be exactly what he was meant to be. Propelled by instinct and muscle memory, by millennia of evolution. When I watched him frolic in the yard, or scale a fence, or stalk squirrels from a rooftop, he was authentically, purely, fully himself. Every part of his body doing what it was meant to do. Not another thought in his mind. That gray and white cat with the subtle tiger stripe.

For Kyle, even though the nights are cold, and the darkness unknown, it’s so much better out there. It’s so much more real. More alive. The wild tastes better than any dry kibble in a bowl. At least for Kyle.

Archer meows a sorrowful cry. I instinctually look outside as I take another sip of coffee, but the yard is empty. Kyle has not returned. Why was he so eager to leave? But then I catch myself. It wasn’t about leaving for Kyle. It was about arriving. Venturing off even if the path grew dangerous. Even if there was sadness, fear, or loss? Another price of rewilding.

I am sad for the cat, and for my own confinement. My self-imposed constraints. Restraints? Straps. Shackles that hold back the wild inside. What would that wild look like? Barefoot in the desert? Me after a few glasses of wine? On a train to a new country? Or just laying down in the grass of my backyard, staring up at the trees. I startle at my reflection staring out the window….thinking about rewilding.

I walk to the sliding glass door. Archer startles and looks outside. For a moment, I see both our reflections - his nervous crouch, my awkward stance. Then I slide open the door, letting in the crisp morning air. Archer doesn't move.

The dew-wet grass soaks my socks as I step. I take in a breath of the wild world, knowing I'll go back inside soon enough. But for now, I let myself feel like Kyle - the sun, the breeze, the endless possibility warming my skin.

Archer never takes his eyes off me through the glass, and for the first time, I realize that his choice to stay is just as intentional as Kyle’s was to leave.

At my feet, a small feather flutters along the ground. Maybe it’s from the chicken coop. I would like to think it’s from the downy breast of the spirited red-tailed hawk that lives in the trees a few blocks away.

I reach down, and pick it up. It almost blows out of my grasp. I shove it into my pajama pocket before heading back inside. A small remembrance of wild to carry with me through another ordinary day.

Lazy Cat Summers; Kyle, August 2024

On January 2, we lost our precious Kyle. All he left behind was an orange airtag collar. Maybe he didn’t want to be found anymore. If you’re in the Claremont area, and see a beautiful, gray and white cat with subtle tiger stripe, would you let me know? Although I respect his decision to roam free, I hope he comes back to visit soon. We miss you Kyle.

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