Naanaa's Story, part 5

"Bear, look - Muzi's home."
"What's he got?"
"'What does he have,' Bear. And I don't know... oh, I think it's a mouse. Weird."
"Oh, poor mouse!"
"Com'on, help me bring the groceries in."
"Why's he carryin' around a dead mouse?"
"I don't know. Cats do that sometimes. Just weird that Muzi's doing it. I didn't think he could catch a mouse. Or would even know to try to catch it."
"Why do cats do that?"
"To show us they love us. It's cat logic. Hard to explain. Can you get this bag please? It's not heavy."

~

Muzi likes how his food makes crunchy noises in his head. He imagines the mouse. It would make furry noises. That would be gross. He wonders if Mom ate it. She eats weird things sometimes.

~

Mom is tense. She looks relaxed, stretched out in her reading chair, feet up on the ottoman, book in hand. Naanaa knows better. He can feel the worry in her heart. She's quiet. He wonders, vainly. She has food. Boy is sleeping happily, and not hurt or sick. She is always happy with her book and her chair, but not tonight. Naanaa watches, but doesn't understand. He wonders all the way back to his bones.

Naanaa's Story, part 4

(Food?)
(Yes Brother. Food.)
(Where? No bowl.)
(Wait.)
(Ok Naanaa. Quiet?)
(Yes, quiet.)

Naanaa remembers.
Yesterday had been a struggle; he'd spent most of it in his bones, sleeping, unsure of his reality. Half here, half there. Then Mom had spoken to him and put a bowl of catnip beside him. His focus cleared; he left his bones.
Today, Naanaa remembers the tribe of pocket mice living under this shed.

Something is off.
The scent is there, behind the hay bale. Naanaa flicks his whiskers; why does the scent seem so far away?
(Muzi - )
(Naanaa?)
(Come here. Quiet.)
Muzi creeps closer, long belly fur sweeping the hay dust in a careful path across the floor. He's trying to stay low, as though the food might be hiding above. Naanaa faces the hay bale as Muzi's face comes even with his. 
(You smell mice?)
Muzi's nostrils flare, curious. (No mice. No catnip.)
(No Muzi. Not mice from Mom. Real mice. Food mice.)
(Food mice? Eat mice?)
(Yes.)
Muzi shifts his weight back. He's unsure of this idea. (From Mom?)
(No. Mice from Mom - toys. Real mice - food.)
(Mice - food. Not from Mom.)
(Yes.)
(Tasty?)
(Very.)
(Not from Mom - how?)
(Catch mice. Like catching toy with Boy.)
(Catch like toy! Fun!) Muzi's tail is wagging and he has stood all the way up.
(Yes. Fun. First hide from toy.)
(Oh yes.) Muzi drops his chin and belly to the ground enthusiastically, long tail still sweeping the floor like the wing of a snow angel. 
(Now wait. Toy will get hungry, come for hay, horse food.)
(Then catch?)
(Then catch.)

It feels like forever, but Muzi is single-minded; focus is his forte. He is stealthy by accident. 

Finally, tiny whiskers emerge between the floorboards and the wall, from a hole barely the size of Muzi's nose. 
(TOY!)
The whiskers disappear. 
(oh, sorry Naanaa.)
(Ok, wait. Quiet until caught.)
(Ok Naanaa.)

After a silence the length of a catnap, the whiskers emerge again. Muzi contains himself. 
Whiskers are followed by a nose, and eyes. Cautious, so cautious. The mouse smells cat, but only the kitten-cat, the not-scary cat. More hungry than scared. There's a pellet of horse feed fallen between the hay bale and the feed bag. Sweet, sweet scent - it overpowers the smell of once-here human and now-here kitten-cat. So hungry. The mouse takes tentative steps, then scurries to the pellet.
(HAHA!) Muzi's soft paw pins the mouse to the floor. The pellet spins into the corner. 
(Two paws, Muzi!)
But Naanaa's instruction is too late - the mouse careens out from under Muzi's paw.
Naanaa leaps to catch the disoriented mouse, but his claws - (I didn't miss!) - don't catch the escapee.
(Muzi, two paws! Claws! Here!)
Muzi's joyous pounce takes him over Naanaa and he lands squarely on his prey. Muzi closes his teeth around the captured mouse and shakes it like a squeaky toy. The resulting crunch surprises him, and he drops it. 
(Naanaa? Toys don't crunch?)
(It's ok Muzi, food crunches.)
Muzi's eyes light up, thinking of his bowl in the kitchen. 
(Smells funny Naanaa.)
(Eat it, Muzi. No more hungry.)

A roar interrupts Muzi's contemplation - Mom's Truck in the gravel driveway. 
Naanaa flinches.
(Mom home! Dinner!)
(Yes Muzi. Go home.)
(Mom like mouse?)
(Yes...)
Muzi runs through the hole in the shed, mouse in tow, to greet Mom at the front door.

Naanaa fades into his bones, shaken.
(Altar-home), he thinks.
Sleep takes him.

Naanaa's story (part 3)

"Mom, where's Muzi?"
"I don't know sweetie. He's probably just hiding somewhere. We'll find him when we get home, ok?"
"Oh-kaaaay. Do I have to go to school?"
"Yes. Hurry up."

(Naanaa.)
(Muzi.)
Two black tails flick toward each other, one nebulous and silky, the other lost in fluff but solid. 
(What is it?)
(Rabbit.) But Naanaa's whiskers shiver, uncertain. The scent is muddled. The silhouette is distorted.
(Rabbit-tree?) 
(Not tree. Rabbit. - Wait here.) 
The obedient one sits. 
What do rabbits know of spectres? His paws leave no mark in the dirt; he was stealthy even in life. The rabbit-thing nibbles the drooping leaves of a mesquite tree. Its slender antlers lay along its back as its head tips upward. 
Naanaa pauses in the tall desert grasses; rabbit, but more so - the scent is more musky, less leafy than a jack rabbit. More dangerous. Rabbit, but not. 
Naanaa's nostrils flare. Contemplation isn't easy these days. 

Muzi is getting hot and his belly is unhappy.
(Hungry.) But Naanaa isn't back yet. 
(Naanaa!) Soft paws trot toward the shadow of another cat. 
The rabbit-thing stops nibbling to watch the intruder. - Cat-sized, but kitten-minded - not dangerous. - It goes back to its snack.

Naanaa's eyes narrow, but he turns and meets Muzi.
(Hungry! Hot!)
(Follow. Home.)
Muzi follows the shadow's steps to the shed. The house is locked up until Mom gets home, but the shed is cool and has mice. 
The shed is elevated from the dirt by three wood beams underneath the floor; Naanaa leads Muzi to a hole in the back corner. They come up behind the horses' feed bin. 

Naanaa's Story (part 2)

"Muzi has started sleeping in Naanaa's spot by my door. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't think Muzi even knew for sure that Naanaa was gone."
"He's a special kitty."
"Yeah well, it's not his fault. Roxy bit him on the head when he was a kitten. He hasn't been right since."
"What?! And you kept her? Katy, you have a child!"
"She's not vicious. Look, you know how she has that super-short hair? Well she has almost no hair at all on her belly, and it's sensitive. When Muzi was really little, and we were all laying on my bed just dozing, he tried to nurse from Roxy. It surprised her and she reacted the same way she would have if a puppy had done the same thing - she put her mouth around his head. Only Muzi was a lot more fragile than a puppy, and one of Roxy's canines actually punctured his skull. He was nearly comatose for two days before he started walking and eating again. I think he had some brain damage. Anyway, it really wasn't either of their faults. They were just doing what kittens and dogs do."
"... If you say so."
"So yeah. Anyway. Muzi is special. Naanaa always looked out for him. Now, he's a little more lost than usual."

Sniff. Sniff-sniff. A barest flicker of movement touches his whiskers to Muzi's fuzzy black face. A slightly broken purr greets Naanaa in return. 
(Brother.) 
(Mom sleeps.)
(I know. It's ok. Sleep too.)
Through the closed door - he doesn't notice that it's closed. He feels the path to take, and takes it. 
The altar calls him, but he doesn't want to rest right now.
Mom is there, sleeping on the big bed with the dogs at her sides. 
The smaller dog lifts her head and snuffles. (Naanaa. I know you.)
(I know you, Bella.)
(Roxy sleeps.)
(She's old.)
(Mom sleeps. Mom is sad.)
(I know. I will help.)
(Ok. Help.)
With Bella watching, Naanaa curls up on the pillow next to Mom, a sentinel for dreams.

Naanaa's story (part one)

This is the rest of Naanaa's story. Parts of this might be fictional. 


[I never told Bear what had happened. He was only six years old. I couldn't explain it to him. When he asked where Naanaa was - why hadn't the sleek cat been in his favorite perch for days? - I said I didn't know. He must have gotten outside, and just not come back in. Maybe he was off having some marvelous adventure. Maybe he was hunting the jackalopes.]


"What would happen if he caught one?"
"I don't know, Bear. What do you think he would do?"
"I think he would ask them why they have horns."
"Maybe he would."
"Well I hope he comes back. I miss him."
"So do I, little Bear."


The sparrows in the yard make his tail twitch, to and fro, just the tip. The window is spotted with tiny cat nose-prints, but Naanaa doesn't seem to notice that. He's peering through, right between the dogs' prints and his own, until horse hooves send the birds scattering and Naanaa's golden gaze dims, suddenly bored. He splays his front feet and leans back into a deep belly stretch. Then forward, stretching the back legs daintily. Two silent hops and he's off the back of the couch, trotting across the carpet. There's chaos in the dining room. Mom is trying to get Boy cleaned up, loudly. There's cereal on the table. The back door is open, the path inside marked by dirty footprints. Naanaa slips outside while backs are turned.

Every thing out here is stolen ground. They haven't lived here long, and Naanaa still meets the occasional interloper trying to claim Naanaa's new territory. He circles the house, then the shed. No new activity there, so he jogs across the pasture to the outer fenceline.

Something scurries under the soil; Naanaa pauses, sniffs, and lowers himself to the dirt. Pantherine, he stalks the sound of a pocket mouse, but the mouse stills and the scent is too elusive. Naanaa moves on unfazed.


"I swore I heard him last night. You know how he would always try to sleep on my face, and I had to lock him out of my bedroom? It was like he was purring right there on my pillow next to me. But he's gone. I know he's gone. His bones are on my altar."
"I don't know, Katy. Maybe he is still there."
"... Maybe."
"That would be good, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, it would. I miss him. So does Bear."
"I still can't believe your mom."
"Me either." Pause. "Well, actually I can. She's like that. But it still hurts."

Bones is my name

I debated. I hemmed. I hawed. But really, how could I not?

I'm so freaking busy this semester, especially this week, which is the last week in one of my more time-consuming classes. But, I find myself wanting to write about this anyway.

It's my name, after all. 

So I'm joining Magaly Guerrero's Witches in Fiction... to the Bone, her 4th blogoversary party from 1-13 April 2013. 

~

The reasons to keep using the nickname Bones for myself just keep adding up. 

First there was the Army, with its alpha-numeric labeling system that dubbed me the lead of team B-1. B-one. And the way soldiers have of calling each other ridiculous names. Like Bones, for the B1 team lead.

Then there was a screen name, humanbones, picked on a whim because my military job title included the words 'human intelligence,' which I found funny. After all, I thought, we're all made up of human bones. In my less flippant moments, the nickname spoke to the lessons of humanity I'd learned overseas, doing that 'human intelligence' job.

Then there was Archer. He called me Bones, at first, because we met on that same website where I'd used the 'humanbones' screen name. He fancied it. Later, when he first told me he loved me, he said it this way: because I love you down to my bones. It struck me, and it stuck.

I first called him Archer because he's a sagittarius, but more because it's an apt description. He asks questions that are pointed and he never misses his mark. He's powerful, as I imagine an archer to be. Then we started watching the tv show Archer, which is hilarious, and which stars the human intelligence industry, if from a satirical perspective. The nickname just became more and more apt. 

Then came Archer's Bones. I needed a name for my website. I wanted to use the 'Bones' nickname somehow, but Diary of Bones wasn't inclusive enough because the website is about more than just my diary. It's my art, my writings, my books, my reading and research projects... all my creations which I deem worthy of publishing. While I mulling these things over, I googled several possibilities that came to mind. One of those was 'human bones,' which led me to this: http://theglyptodon.wordpress.com/2012/06/26/the-archers-bones/

The Archer's Bones. As I read that, I thought about the changes my relationship with Archer has brought about; I thought about the catharses I've experienced in doing my paintings and in blogging. Thus, archers-bones.com was born, and the nickname 'Bones' is that much more strongly  my own. 

Because it's me, down to my bones.