January 19

He”d gathered so many items from the park, his underground, vertical hollow log was a veritable museum: paper stacks, bottles in rows, tiny bones, teeth, broken claws, nuts, roots, berries, pods, fish scales, scat, pebbles, cloves of garlic, strips of bark, dried leaves and flowers, colorful feathers and a myriad more objects were organized as efficiently as a library.  Human students of flora and fauna might boast a wider range of artifacts but regarding key elements in deciphering natural cycles, none could compare with Quim’s collection.

Beamer, frequently visiting the raccoon’s den, always enjoyed its studious atmosphere.  While Beam’s gift of Allsence depended on intuition and keen thinking, and Black Tammoes was a direct visionary, Quim trusted his years of scholarly labor to interpret natural patterns.  All three animals, though differing in method, were valuable instruments for determining the best path lying ahead.

Sometimes the path is hardest to see for the one standing directly on it.

“Didn’t see it coming,” Quim lurched unsteadily among the various stacks of fur he’d collected in the Reserve.  “Thought we were going to have a heavier-than-normal snow season, but I missed this storm entirely.”  He leaned into a pile of rat hair, blinking his sleep-deprived yellow eyes into focus.

 “Should’ve seen the signs,” he told himself miserably, poking the rodent fuzz with a bony forefinger.  He teetered off toward a piece of sycamore bark, laying his ear against it, listening to its tympanic hum. 

 “Aha!  There it is!  Right there; the drawn-out beat, the irregular rhythm….smack in front of me!”  Reeling away and shaking his head, he collapsed near a bright green beer bottle and fell into an immediate, spastic doze.

This castigation was typical.  Quim’s standards were so high, even he could not surmount their height.  No matter how artful his deductions or how brilliant his conclusions, they were never quite good enough for Quim himself.  Surging on tobacco juice, his thrumming brain drove him right past any stopping for personal congratulation.

Nor was Quim likely to dispense encouragement to others, though a rare commendation might fall from his cracked lips.  Despite it all, he had the respect of everyone who knew him, and though he didn’t realize it, he’d earned the affection of many animals in Shenango. He was fortunate their loyalty was firm.

A loud banging on the outside of his log wakened him with a violent start and he was on his feet instantly, rubbing his rheumy eyes.  “Yes…yes…I’m coming!  Only a minute!  Be with you momentarily!”  He stumbled across the dirt floor. 

Climbing up to the den’s opening, he poked his nose into the cold afternoon air. There Quim found on the snow two pieces of ham, half an apple, some dried peas, a sprinkling of kibble, and cat tracks leading away from his door.