A feral cat named for his stripes is lost. Likely not to be found, coyotes run rampant in these parts.

There was a knock at the door. Oh here we go. Another solicitor. The woman on the other side says her name is Diane. She's holding a laminated something I can’t make out. I thought she was selling cleaning solution like the last solicitor who had a phony form and a plastic bottle. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t selling anything. She lives across the street. At–the house with the gardens. The image is of her cat, Stripy. Diane tells me his name is due to his stripes. Stripy's feral, Diane says. She’s had him for a few years. Stripy's been missing for three days. And Diane is concerned.

Heidi's going bonkers. She greets all visitors like they're best friends. She jumps and sits at the feet of them, wagging her tail, waiting to be petted. She wants attention. I mention to Diane that Heidi doesn’t allow animals to get close to the house. And that Stripy probably won’t be found here. Diane is nice. She thanks me. I hope Stripy comes home.
  • Side note: I used to have a couch named Stripy for the same reason that Diane’s cat got his name. It’s the same couch in American History X. This was pointed out to me.
A couch named for its stripes. photo in jar

The next morning I’m looking at a poster for Stripy that Diane must have put up. I’ve been noticing these missing cat posters lately. A woman walking her dog, yells to me. I saw a coyote. I hadn’t seen one in awhile but saw one this morning. It was young one, she says. She's telling me because of my pup. She’s ten. A coyote, around here? The woman with the dog walks past. She points that it was just up the hill. Over one street.

 I go back to the picture, admiring those stripes. Poor little guy doesn't stand a chance.

Also, it turns out a lot of cats look like Stripy.