From a letter sent to John Teton, Portland, OR, July 8, 2006:

"I thought I'd share with you the progress we're making in cloning a feline/human crossbreed. Attached is a photo of Felix, our most successful creation thus far. I think he combines the best attributes of man and (midsize) cat. He's lithe and beautifully muscled, barely 120 lbs. at 6 feet tall. The tail is short and slender and you hardly notice it after awhile.

"Felix is a splendid athlete, especially in gymnastics. His conversation is delightfully incandescent, though with far more wit than humor. He has a lovely singing voice in the alto range, best enjoyed at a distance. And he's fabulous in bed, or so I'm told. The only problem is his tendency to take off his clothes in public- when he does that and starts in with that tongue business, it's best to leave the room."

"The trouble began when Felix and I were walking from Fisherman's Wharf toward Pier 39. I wanted to get him used to being with people, and show him that fullblood humans wouldn't be too upset about seeing him, yellow eyes and all. Things went fine at first, though he was a little nervous in crowds.

"Then I see this fat tourist and his Yorkshire terrier crossing Bay Street toward the piers. The little dog suddenly dashes across our path, running after a pigeon. Before I knew what had happened Felix makes this huge leap, pounces on the dog and yells, 'Gotcha!' I rush up and shout, 'Let that dog go!' and Felix does so and I see that the little pooch isn't hurt or anything, just startled.

"All would have been OK but the fat man comes up, red in the face and real mad, and punches Felix in his face. I guess he didn't realize how dangerous that was, not noticing that Felix was barefoot and his claws hadn't been trimmed. In an instant Felix is eight feet straight up in the air and he comes down with his right foot into the guy's stomach, and a moment later the man's flat on his back in the middle of the street. All hell breaks loose in the crowds of tourists around us...sheer pandemonium.

"Now you're going to read a lot of sensational headlines tomorrow along the lines of, 'Cat-Man Disembowels Tourist!' Well I was there and I saw for myself- he was not disemboweled, his bowels were just where they ought to be. Any sensible person would have known what to do when his body cavity has been sliced open, sternum to pubis, by a razor-sharp 4-inch claw: remain lying quietly on your back, keep calm, hold everything in place with your hands, try not to talk or cough or laugh, and occasionally shoo flies away, until the ambulance comes. The sensible person would not get up and run around shouting bloody murder, like that foolish fat guy did. All might still have come out all right, if he hadn't (so to speak) tripped over himself and attracted the attention of those two pit bulls...but that's another story...

"Anyway, amidst all the confusion and shouting and barking and honking and sirens and cable-car bells clanging, and folks panicking and slipping and falling, Felix and I somehow managed to slip away. We're going keep out of sight for awhile until all the excitement blows over and the public moves on to the next sensation. Frankly, I don't think charges will be pressed against Felix- after all, the man disemboweled himself. He has only himself to blame: if he'd behaved sensibly, a few hundred stitches, a few weeks in bed with antibiotics, and he'd have been as good as new!"

August had been an especially good month in my work of introducing Felix to the human social world. We had found, through trial and error, the right attire to conceal his more feline aspects: loose trousers into which he could tuck his tail inconspicuously, roomy boots to conceal his formidable claws, and sunglasses to hide those disconcerting yellow eyes. We spent many a day out and about in the Summer sunshine, encountering hundreds of people who- if they noticed Felix at all- merely seemed to admire his handsome face and tall, lithe body. Just once, as I was walking behind him along a narrow path at Land's End, he turned to face me to ask me a question- while still walking forward! This feat was second nature to one whose torso can pivot 180° at the pelvis, but would have been most disquieting to anyone observing it. I cautioned him, and he's been mindful since then.

At Summer's end Felix really came into his own as a social success. I had been invited to a garden party at one of the few remaining grand estates on the Peninsula. I took Felix with me, and he was thoroughly at ease (and inconspicuous). My only concern was that he insisted on several short naps- but he was good at concealing himself, curled up in a shed next to the swimming-pool heater.

As the afternoon progressed, the company waxed ever more convivial- elderly couples danced the jitterbug, a teenager showed off his juggling skills, and four straw-hatted gentlemen sang several rousing barbershop quartet pieces. Which inspired Felix to sing a ballad, the response to which was remarkable... I should explain that Felix's voice is extraordinary: easily heard half a mile away, quite like Scottish bagpipes both in the sound and in the effect it has on people: it makes them move, mostly away from the source, not necessarily because they don't like the sound, but because the sound is most pleasant when heard at a good distance.

Felix has the amazing ability to sing two or even three notes at once- as if he were singing chords. But not chords of thirds and fifths as in usual Western music, but sevenths and elevenths, a weird and yet hauntingly beautiful sound. Also, if he sings at any volume, he's quite incapable of glottal stops- much glissando, no staccato.

It was one of those dreary, rainy mornings in December. I came back from the gym and found Felix sitting by the window, glowering at the grey drizzly scene, looking for all the world as if he wanted to sink his claws into whichever rain god was responsible for this murky turn of affairs. But, as always, he was easily distracted and cheered by conversation.

Our talk that morning exemplified the unique qualities of his cat-man sensibility. Someone observing us would have noted the pauses- most anything I said would be met by a quarter-minute of silence, as if Felix were pondering every word, savoring each tone of my voice, mulling over every alternate meaning, in what I had just spoke. Perhaps as a result of these pauses, his responses were always clear and grammatical. And often witty- but never humorous, for Felix possesses no sense of humor whatever. That morning I spent an exasperating half-hour trying to explain the concept of self-deprecating humor to Felix. He couldn't get it at all- it was as if I were describing people who cut off their own faces before sitting down to dinner. Another time I failed utterly to get across the notion of "guilt" to him. "Shame" he could understand, but "guilt"? The very idea of punishing oneself in any way was inconceivable. Likewise, "sin" and all of its many synonyms were utterly beyond his grasp. On the other hand, Felix's language has at least 60 versions of the verb "to admire": "to admire one who is newly worthy", "to admire from a great distance", "to admire one's movement", "to admire one's voice", "to be admired by a stranger", "to be admired by one's sibling", or (this especially to birds) "to admire one so exquisite that I must devour him right now so as to absorb his excellence", and so on, and so on.

From these samples it's clear that Felix has only a limited ability to see or imagine the emotional life of another being. His capacity for empathy is weak. As a result it's been a struggle to keep him behaving in the moral and upright way we expect of any mature law-abiding citizen. The trick, as I soon learned, was to play on his well-developed sense of shame. I convinced him that the cityscape was filled with eyes, always watching, always ready to punish him if he got out of line.

Felix and I had gone to a perfectly marvelous party in a loft in a warehouse district by the China Basin. As always, Felix had charmed all the young women with his witty repartee and his vigorous and graceful dancing. We left very late, and had just got to my car when Felix spotted a scurrying rat in a nearby alley and dashed over to investigate. I heard an angry voice yelling, "Allright you f-----g faggot, give me all your money or I'll blow you're f-----g head off!" I turned and saw that a big man had grabbed Felix from behind and was holding him in a chokehold. After that so much happened that it's all a blur in my memory: Felix lashed back with his left elbow into the guy's stomach, which made him loosen his grip; then Felix leapt straight upward several feet, turned and came down hard. I saw the flash of Felix's long sharp toenails, heard an unearthly scream, then the next thing I knew my friend was dashing toward me. I got him safely into my car, then went cautiously into the alley to investigate. The bad guy was writhing on the ground, half-dressed and moaning forlornly. I called 911 and demanded that the cops, and an ambulance, high-tail it to the scene.

"I could smell the problem with this fellow right away," explained Felix as we drove off. [Indeed, his sense of smell is five or six orders of magnitude more sensitive than that of ordinary humans.] "I perceived that he was being mean to me because he was afflicted with an excess of testosterone. So I chose to correct things by doing a little quick surgery- I used my left rear claws to remove his pants, then did the job with the three middle claws of my right rear foot. I had to decide which claw to extend and which to retract, for as a moment's reflection will reveal, there were eight possible versions of the surgery." Felix's explanation made perfect sense, although I was amazed that he was able to make his drastic decisions and carry them out in the two seconds of descending from his leap.

My discreet inquiries at the County Jail disclosed that Felix's assailant- a certain Mr. Jones- was indeed a bad guy: earlier the same night he had robbed an elderly couple- pistol-whipping the husband- and shot and seriously injured a crack cocaine dealer. Moreover, he had a long rap sheet and now faced his "Third Strike" conviction. A few days later I visited Mr. Jones at the hospital. I had picked up his missing bits and preserved them in a Mason-jar of rum, and I wanted to return them to him, reckoning that he might need them seeing as how he was facing 25 years to life in a tough penitentiary. But he was feeling very down- he hadn't adjusted to his newly-reduced role in the human gene pool. At least his demeanor seemed gentle, almost feminine, so perhaps Felix's intervention had done some good. I resolved to visit him again when he's in a more cheerful frame of mind.

I must admit it: Felix is a natural-born ladies' "man". He is wonderful at conversation, witty and a good listener. He's brilliant at drawing women out, with his sincere curiosity about their knowledge and experience- so much so that they hardly notice that he has no interest whatsoever in their feelings.

A few weeks ago Felix met a fine woman at a dinner party. Virginia is a buxom, voluptuous woman of Mexican and Irish background- a large-spirited gal with long flowing curly dark-red hair and full sensuous lips. By the time the rest of us were having dessert and liqueurs, Felix and Virginia had slipped away to the library. I caught a glimpse of him admiring her, charming her, caressing her.

The next evening, Felix invited Virginia over to our house for cocktails and "a little music". To give them some privacy, I retired downstairs to my basement workshop.

Before long Felix and Virginia had slipped away to his upstairs bedroom. What happened next was a most extraordinary session of love-making, wherein Virginia experienced Felix's magnificent talents. His caresses! His gentle massaging! And his amazing tongue- paying exquisite attention to every receptive corner of her body! She had multiple, shuddering, soul-brightening orgasms, for well over an hour. As she lay in the afterglow of this glory, Virginia sought for the appropriate poetic words to express her joy to her new lover: how he had given her the finest, the sweetest, the most overwhelming erotic experience of her life.

But then she turned on the light.

I heard her scream as if she were right there in my workshop, even though she was two floors up and at the opposite end of the house. I rushed upstairs and burst into the bedroom. Virginia was still screaming, and continued to do so for a good quarter of an hour. I tried everything- hugging her, speaking gentle calming words, throwing a blanket over her, anything I could think of. Still she screamed on, in uncontrollable spasms, like a panicked baby or like a sufferer of a whooping-cough. Finally I recalled a scene from a 1940s movie starring Humphrey Bogart, and knew what to do: I slapped her hard across her face. Of course it worked right away- "Thanks! I needed that," she said as she calmed down.

"Virginia, thank God you're O.K.," I said, "but where's Felix?"

Her eyes widened at the mention of his name and her breasts began heaving anew. She pointed mutely at the open window. I said, in the deepest, firmest voice I could manage, "I'll take care of this-- and you, young lady, put on some clothes right now!", which restored her calm.

I searched for some time before I finally spotted Felix, crouched on the steep roof of the house. Evidently he had panicked at Virginia's first scream, leapt out the window, and climbed twenty feet of vertical wooden wall to that lofty perch. My soothing words failed to coax him down; finally, I tossed pieces of raw chicken in the right places such that I got him down, by gradual stages, to a third-floor window. He, too, was stark naked, but luckily it was a moonless night and no one had seen him.

All is well now. Virginia has recovered from her shock at seeing that Felix is built, below the waist, very differently from other men in her life. Even taking that, she concedes, he's still the best lover she's ever had. I'm happy to report that they're still seeing one another. However, Virginia always takes a Valium before any lovemaking- and she insists that he keep his pants on and the lights off.

I resolved to give Felix some balance in his love life by introducing him to a female of his own species. Felicia is another of our feline/human cloning successes: just as tall and slender as Felix, with violet rather than yellow eyes, and (as I soon was to discover) an even more powerful voice.

I arranged for them to join me for a country-house weekend at my place in Napa. Their first dinner together, on Friday evening, didn't go too well. Neither of them spoke a word during the meal- they just eyed one another warily across the table. At dessert, when Felix was helping me serve the liqueurs, he sniffed Felicia's hair as he was passing behind her. She turned, bared her teeth at him, and emitted a most ferocious sound- rather like steam escaping from a high-pressure boiler, but as if it were sucked in rather than blown out. Needless to say this was disconcerting to the other guests.

Saturday was much the same: silent eyeing and circling one another, occasional sniffs from Felix, met with the same fearsome response by Felicia. Finally on Sunday afternoon there was a change: Felicia seemed in a much better mood, said some sweet words to Felix, and kept rubbing her back against his body. Soon after they slipped away to Felix's guest bedroom.

I anticipated there might soon be some noise in the house, so I prepared for it by cloistering myself in my bedroom, putting on my iPod, tuning in a Wagner opera at high volume, and wrapping a pillow around my head and securing it with a necktie. It did no good; when Felicia delivered herself of her ecstatic scream, it was as if coarse-grain sandpaper was scouring the inside of my skull. Soon after I lost consciousness.

I awoke to find Felix licking my face; he was anxious that I might have had a stroke or something. But I was much more worried about him: the whole left side of his neck had four deep gashes where Felicia had lovingly clawed him, as proved by the photo I took that evening (see above). He assured me, "Don't worry, it'll heal fast and anyway it was worth it!" Sure enough, the gashes completely healed in a couple of days.

I think Felix will stick with Virginia as his main squeeze- now that's she's gotten used to his unusual physiognomy, she's really much more appreciative of him and treats him better than Felicia ever would. I'm glad of that. But I'll most certainly never forget Felicia's ecstatic chord: like a bagpipe powered by a jet engine, hitting high C, the A-sharp above that, and the C-sharp above that.

I thought our annual Green Valley Ranch Fish Feast would be a good occasion to introduce Felix to the crafts of the kitchen. We were expecting a big crowd, so I'd had a 40-lb. wild salmon, caught that very morning, flown down from Vancouver.

Felix had learned to catch fish during our disastrous recent trip to Japan (see XXI, "Annihilating the Sacred Koi", and XXII, "Springing Felix from the Kyoto Jail"), but he had never cooked so much as an egg until now. As we admired the fine fresh fish lying on the farmhouse table, I explained the preparation steps: cleaning and gutting the salmon, stuffing the fish and sprinkling herbs, followed by braising in our huge stainless steel pan. I went outside to trim some dill from the kitchen garden.

My cousin, watching from the nearby dining area, told me what happened next. Immediately after I left Felix circled the table with eager attention, sniffing, eyes ever wider. Then he started batting the fish, right hand then left hand, gently at first, then ever more powerfully until it flew off the table. He boxed the salmon back and forth across the floor, leaping and tumbling and pouncing. That's when I returned, to see Felix finally lying on the kitchen floor, embracing the fish as if a lover, in a wild abstracted trance.

"Felix!" I admonished, "FEEE-LIXSSS!!" Shamed, he snapped out of his trance and gazed meekly up at me. "Let go of our dinner! We've got work to do!"

We resumed our preparations. Felix was puzzled that I had seen fit to gut the salmon and discard the intestines, for they struck him as a perfect stuffing. He was aghast that I wanted to stuff the fish with wild rice, and insisted on his inspired alternative: chicken livers and chopped Ahi tuna. After some argument, I yielded- and the result was perfectly fine, especially with the anchovy fillets which Felix carefully laid out inside the fish to create a "new rib cage".

We disputed again about the right degree of cooking, finally agreeing to remove it from the braising pan at the point where it "was just short of being ruined" (Felix) but also "just barely edible" (me).

It's clear that Felix can be competent, even inspired, in the kitchen. He has a wonderful feeling for herbs and spices, he knows how to fashion the dishes into admirable shapes, and he resists the temptation to overcook things. And-- "none of this damned nonsense about carbohydrates!"

Felix has by now (November 2007) lived for a considerable time among humans. So I was inspired to pose this to him: "Please tell me ten things that have surprised you about humans and their society." In the course of a long evening's conversation, this is what emerged:

(1) Felix is most surprised by our dependence upon money. As he sees it, the only meaningful medium of exchange is prestige. He says that he can gauge a person's worth- his admirability, his mana or his mojo if you will- after only a brief observation. For example, in Felix's work as bartender, he scrutinizes the way a customer walks into the room and the manner in which he orders his drink. He can then decide who deserves a magnificent cocktail, lovingly made with precisely the right balance of liquors, juices, and herbs, served at perfect coolness in a glass polished to brilliancy- and who merits merely to have a mug of warm Coke thrust impatiently in his direction. No need for cash or credit card or any such-- a person of value will receive things of value from Felix, and he expects the same in return.

(2) "You humans walk through your world as if you're hypnotized, not noticing anything of your surroundings. So much musing and fretting about things that are far from the here and now! Why are you so disengaged from your senses- there is so much to see, and smell, and hear. Perhaps it's because, compared to me, you're nearly deaf, you can hardly smell a thing, and you don't take the trouble to look around you!"

(3) Felix absolutely hates noise. He can't understand why we tolerate such a loud environment, especially vehicles ("Why aren't all cars electric?!") He goes ballistic at the sound of ambulance sirens, all the more so when I told him that half the ambulance runs in San Francisco are merely for chronic drunks. He has the habit of hurling eggs at passing ambulances--- his aim is amazingly accurate, I was minded to promote him as a major-league pitcher until I thought better of it.

Felix's argument against noise is simply that it hides the truly interesting sounds of the world: the sussuration of leaves in a gentle breeze, the soft swish of a rodent moving through grasses, the distinctive thump! of a bird knocking itself out against a plate-glass window...

(4) Felix enjoys conversation, but not if it is merely in the form of small talk. To him, words are meant to be thought-provoking or at least informative. Conversation lacking these qualities irritates him: it is mere noise that interferes with the enjoyment of the intriguing background sounds of the natural world. All the more so in the countryside: our walks together in the hills of Napa are enjoined to silence, sometimes by a sharp admonitory look in my direction if I start babbling...

(5) "Humans seem to think their tongues are just for tasting food. How blind! There is so very much to discover about a friend or a stranger if you just take the time to lick his face and his hands. You can ascertain his mood, where he's been, who he's been close to, what he's been eating, his readiness for play or competition--- and so much more. And licking and being licked is such a pleasant way to be affectionate. I just can't understand why you keep telling me not to do it..."

(6) "What do you people have against taking naps?! You have this crazy idea of packing all your sleep into one 8-hour stretch. Would you have all your day's food in one huge meal? Well I suppose you would if you were- eeyew- a dog. But you humans are better than that, you have at least three meals a day plus lots of snacks, so why not do your sleeping that way? There are so many lovely places to take naps-- all those soft carpets in your homes and offices, all those sunny corners, all those warm hoods of just-driven cars."

(7) I've never heard Felix laugh, and I think he may be incapable of the thing. I remember the first time we observed the phenomenon together: at a Punch-and-Judy show by the Ferry Building. Much laughter and joy- Felix asked me if the people were having some kind of coughing fit. I told him that it was simply an expression of joy and surprise. "Hmmph!", he replied, "that's just the time that one should be most quiet, calm, and serene, the better to savor such an experience!"

(8) Felix commented that most humans have only a fraction of the desire for solitude as he does. Our recent visit to a Zen retreat at Tassajara made this clear to him: "What a fine place! What sensible people! Why isn't all of human society like this?!"

(9) "Humans spend so much mental energy on things that are not here and now. Apparently your poor senses- not very sharp-eyed, nearly deaf, can't smell a damn thing- and your lack of physical prowess obliges you to compensate by thinking of faraway times and places. Why care about history when you can't change it? Why worry about troubles on the other side of the world? You complain about evil men like George W. Bush and Kim Jong-Il- well, I'll give them a good clawing on your behalf, but you'll have to bring them to me first so that I can judge for myself!"

(10) "Ten? Why are you humans so obsessed with the number ten? It's nine that matters! Surely a combination of three and three is the most inspiring of all small numbers- such balance!- such symmetry! No- forget your dumb anthropomorphic five-by-two. I've given you nine things to write about, and that's all you're going to get!"