– one of the fiction books written by Michael K. Hurder © [2025]
Read along as I create fiction. You might recognize at least one character. In the realm of make-believe, I’ve explored various themes and characters. This fiction is dearer to me than all the rest of my writing. I think you’ll know why – popi
Doh Rey Me & the Kitties 3
Chapter 3: Whispers of the Wild
Home up high
As the summer sun began its slow retreat behind the jagged silhouette of Cathedral Peak, the Sierra Sanctuary hummed with the rhythm of life reclaimed. The high tundra, a vast expanse of golden grasses swaying under the weight of late-afternoon breezes, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the cooler months ahead. Wildflowers—purple lupines and scarlet paintbrushes—clung to their final blooms, while the distant call of a Clark’s nutcracker echoed like a sentinel’s warning. This was the High Sierras at their most poignant, a land where beauty and brutality danced in eternal tandem, where every shadow could hide a predator or a promise.
Shorty—whose real name was Mike Adams, though few ever used it anymore—leaned on his walking stick at the edge of the wolf enclosure, his long gray hair whipping in the wind, his bushy beard catching flecks of dust from the trail. The cast on his arm had come off weeks ago, leaving behind a stiffness that reminded him of old war wounds, but he moved with the deliberate grace of a man who’d stared down death more times than he cared to count.
Slammer, the steadfast German Shepherd with his black-and-tan coat and ever-watchful amber eyes, sat at his side, ears perked toward the horizon. The pack was restless today: Doh, the alpha wolf with his sleek gray fur and commanding gaze, paced the fence line, while Rey and Me flanked him, their silver-tipped and golden-eyed forms alert to some unseen stir in the air.
Jess and Aiya were knee-deep in chores, their laughter cutting through the quiet like birdsong. Jess, with her wavy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes sparkling with determination, hauled a bucket of fresh water toward the cougar den. Aiya, her long dark waves bouncing as she moved, freckles prominent under the sun’s glare, carried a bundle of venison scraps donated by local hunters. “Hey, Shorty!” Jess called, her voice light and teasing. “Bruno’s getting feisty; tried to swipe my boot earlier. Think he’s ready for bigger adventures?”
Shorty grunted, a smile tugging at his weathered face. “That bear cub’s got spirit, alright. But don’t get too cozy; wild things gotta learn to fend for themselves.” He watched as the girls worked, their school-aged energy a balm to his old soul. Summers here were their domain, weekends stolen when possible, but the sanctuary’s pull was magnetic. Yet today, a new whisper had reached them via the rangers’ radio: a lost litter of lynx cubs, orphaned in the backcountry after a rockslide claimed their mother. The High Sierras were no stranger to such tragedies—avalanches, predators, human encroachment—but each one tugged at the threads of this fragile haven.
The call had come from Ranger Rebekah Ellis, head of the Merced Ranger Station, her voice crackling over the satellite link with the authority of someone who’d spent decades patrolling these peaks. “Shorty, we’ve got reports from hikers up near Tioga Meadows. Lynx den collapsed—mother didn’t make it. Three cubs spotted, but they’re skittish. Our team’s stretched thin with fire season ramping up. Can your crew handle a rescue?”
Shorty had agreed without hesitation. Rebekah was a force, with her short-cropped hair now streaked with silver, her no-nonsense demeanor hiding a deep well of compassion for the wilds. She’d been instrumental in the sanctuary’s setup, pulling strings with the parks department alongside Harlan. Her young rangers—Josie, the quick-witted botanist with a knack for tracking; Chase, the burly climber always ready for a rappel; and Roger, the tech-savvy one who maintained their comms gear—had become familiar faces, dropping off supplies or lending hands during busy spells.
Jake arrives
As the team geared up for the hike, a new arrival pulled up in a dusty Jeep: Jake Adams, Shorty’s estranged oldest son. Tall and lean, with the same graying hair cropped short and a beard trimmed neat, Jake carried the weight of unspoken years in his hazel eyes. He’d been a boy when Shorty—Mike—had returned from Vietnam, shattered and distant, chasing ghosts through failed jobs and forgotten promises.
Their relationship had frayed to awkward silences, both men yearning for connection but stumbling over pride and pain. But the news of Shorty’s heroic stand against the traffickers had reached Jake through Perry’s magazine articles, stirring something deep. This summer, he’d volunteered at the sanctuary, hoping the wilds might bridge what words couldn’t.
“Pop,” Jake said, stepping out with a backpack slung over one shoulder, his voice tentative but steady. “Heard you could use an extra hand. Perry mentioned the lynx cubs—thought I might tag along.”
Shorty paused, his gravelly voice catching for a moment. “Jake. Didn’t expect… well, glad you’re here, son.” The words hung heavy, but Slammer broke the tension, trotting over to sniff Jake’s boots, tail wagging in approval. Jess and Aiya exchanged glances, sensing the undercurrent, but welcomed him warmly. “I’m Jess,” the blonde said, extending a hand. “This is Aiya. We’re the resident troublemakers.”
Aiya grinned, her brown eyes flashing. “More like animal whisperers. You any good with cats? These lynx might be feisty.”
Jake chuckled, easing into the group. “Grew up hearing Pop’s stories about jungle beasts. Figure I can manage.”
Lynx Rescue
The trek to Tioga Meadows was a test of endurance, the trail winding through dense stands of lodgepole pines and across boulder-strewn fields where snowmelt streams gurgled like hidden laughter. The air grew thinner, laced with the sharp tang of pine resin and earth. Wildlife stirred around them: a mule deer bounded away, its white tail flashing; a marmot whistled from a rocky perch. Shorty led the way, his walking stick tapping rhythmically, sharing tales of the Sierras’ secrets. “This land don’t give up its young easy,” he said. “But we owe it to try.”
Jake walked beside him, the awkwardness thawing with each step. “Pop, I read about what happened—the fall, the rescue. Should’ve come sooner.”
Shorty glanced sidelong, his bushy beard hiding a flicker of emotion. “Water under the bridge, son. War took a lot from me—time with you most of all. But we’re here now.”
As they neared the site, Roland Chapmann joined them via a rendezvous point. The wildlife expert from the first adventure, Roland was a lanky man in his fifties, with wire-rimmed glasses and a khaki vest stuffed with notebooks. He’d been the one to advise Shorty on the initial wolf cubs, his knowledge of Sierra fauna unparalleled. “Shorty! Good to see you upright,” Roland boomed, clapping him on the back. “Rebekah looped me in. Lynx are rare up here—Canadian variety, pushing south with climate shifts. Cubs will need specialized care: high-protein diet, minimal human contact to avoid imprinting.”
The group fanned out, following Roland’s lead to the collapsed den—a jumble of granite slabs where the rockslide had struck like a thunderclap. The mother lynx’s remains were a somber sight, her tufted ears and spotted coat a testament to her fierce protection. Nearby, faint mews drew them to a crevice: three cubs, no more than a few weeks old, with fluffy gray fur, oversized paws, and bright blue eyes wide with fear. One had a tuft of white on its chest, another a stubby tail that twitched nervously, the third bolder, hissing softly.
“Easy now,” Roland murmured, donning gloves. Jess and Aiya assisted, their gentle hands coaxing the cubs into carriers lined with soft blankets. “We’ll name them later,” Jess whispered, her blue eyes soft. “They look like little ghosts.”
Aiya nodded, her freckles dusted with trail dirt. “Ghost, Shadow, and Whisper? Fits the whispers that led us here.”
The return journey was cautious, the cubs’ carriers secured on backpacks. Jake proved invaluable, his steady strength helping navigate steep descents. “Reminds me of that time you told me about scouting in Nam,” he said to Shorty. “Eyes on every shadow.”
Shorty nodded, a rare warmth in his voice. “You listened more than I thought, son.”
Sanctuary grows
Back at the sanctuary, the lynx cubs were settled into a quarantine enclosure—a shaded area with climbing logs and hidden dens to mimic their natural habitat. Dr. Vasquez examined them, confirming minor scrapes but overall health. “They’ll need formula for now,” she said. “Then transition to small game. Roland, your expertise will be key.”
As evening fell, the compound—Shorty’s “zoom”—came alive with activity. The wolves howled in greeting, Doh’s deep timbre leading the chorus, while the cougars watched curiously from their rocks. Chins, the bold one with his white chin patches, scaled the fence for a better look, earning a scold from Shorty. “Down, you rascal!” Bruno the bear cub lumbered over, sniffing at the new arrivals, his black fur gleaming. The fox kits, Flick and Flame, darted about like red streaks, adding to the chaos.
Jess and Aiya took turns bottle-feeding the lynx, their school-aged enthusiasm undimmed by the long day. “They’re so fluffy,” Jess cooed, holding one gently. Aiya, ever the fiery one, laughed as another cub batted at her fingers. “Trouble in tiny packages. Just like us, right Shorty?”
Shorty grumbled good-naturedly, but his eyes twinkled. “You girls are gonna wear me out. Jake, grab that venison—wolves are hungry.”
Over dinner in the main cabin—venison stew simmered over a wood stove, the air rich with herbs—conversations flowed. Harlan had called earlier, promising more funding for expansions, thrilled by Jess’s updates. Rebekah Ellis stopped by with her young rangers: Josie with plant samples for the greenhouse, Chase hauling gear, Roger tweaking the satellite dish. “Good work on the lynx,” Rebekah said, her voice warm. “Merced Station’s got your back—call if you need us.”
Roland shared stories of past rescues, his glasses fogging from the stew’s steam. “Remember that grizzly relocation last year? These Sierras are changing—warmer winters mean more orphans. Your sanctuary’s a lifeline.”
Jake opened up, sharing his own life: a job in photography, echoing his father’s talent, but in urban landscapes. “Always wanted to capture the wild like you, Pop.” The awkwardness lingered, but moments like these chipped away at it.
That night, under a canopy of stars sharp as diamonds, Shorty sat by the fire pit with Slammer at his feet. The pack settled: wolves curling in their den, cougars prowling shadows, new cubs mewing softly. Jess and Aiya roasted marshmallows, their faces aglow. “This place feels like magic,” Jess said.
Aiya nodded. “But real magic—with claws and teeth.”
Jake joined them, handing Shorty a photo he’d printed: the group on the trail, lynx carriers in tow. “First of many, maybe?”
Shorty—Mike—took it, his voice soft. “Yeah, son. First of many.”
But the wilds whispered more challenges. Rangers reported unusual tracks near the sanctuary—perhaps a rogue bear or poachers testing boundaries. And with fall approaching, the animals’ independence grew, hinting at releases that would test hearts and bonds.
The sanctuary’s story deepened, a tapestry of healing and hazard in the High Sierras’ embrace.
The next morning dawned crisp, frost etching the grasses like silver lace. The lynx cubs—now officially Ghost (the white-tufted one), Shadow (the twitchy-tailed), and Whisper (the bold hisser)—were adapting well, lapping formula with growing vigor. Roland spent the day teaching the crew about lynx behavior: their solitary nature, exceptional hearing, and prowess as hunters of snowshoe hares. “They’re built for the high country,” he explained, adjusting his glasses. “Tufted ears for echolocation, big paws like snowshoes.”
Jess took notes diligently, her wavy hair falling over her notebook. “So, we release them when? They can’t stay forever.”
“Spring, ideally,” Roland replied. “Give ’em time to learn skills here.”
Aiya, meanwhile, organized a training session for the cougars. Chins, Itzy, and Bitsy had grown into sleek adolescents, their tawny coats rippling over muscled frames. Shorty released a few more hares into their enclosure, watching as the cats stalked with innate grace. “Look at ’em go,” Aiya cheered, her brown eyes wide. But Bitsy, ever the mischief-maker, veered off to pounce on Jake’s backpack instead. “Hey!” he laughed, tumbling playfully.
Shorty shook his head. “Damn kids. Gonna kill me with all this zoomin’.”
Ranger’s warning
The young rangers from Merced arrived mid-morning: Josie with seeds for native plants to enrich the enclosures, Chase to reinforce fencing against potential intruders, Roger to install motion sensors. Rebekah oversaw it all, her presence commanding yet approachable. “Heard about those tracks,” she said to Shorty. “Could be nothing but stay vigilant. Fire season’s heating up—smokejumpers are on alert.”
Jake bonded with the team, his estrangement with Shorty easing through shared work. During a break, he pulled his father aside. “Pop—Mike—I came because… I want to make up for lost time. If you’ll have me.”
Shorty’s gravelly voice softened. “Always, son. Always.”
As the day wore on, another orphan arrived via ranger transport: a young osprey with a damaged wing, fished from a lake after tangling in discarded line. “Human trash,” Roland muttered, bandaging the bird. The girls helped, naming it Skye for its love of soaring. Its story was a cautionary tale of pollution’s reach even in these remote heights.
By afternoon, the sanctuary buzzed: wolves hunting simulated prey, cougars climbing, lynx napping, bear and foxes playing. Slammer patrolled, a unifying force. Harlan’s funding had added a visitor center outline, promising education outreach.
But tension brewed. That evening, motion sensors pinged—large tracks circled the perimeter. “Bear?” Jess wondered.
“Or worse,” Shorty said, grabbing his rifle for safety. The group armed with flashlights, ventured out, hearts pounding in the Sierras night.
Tracks
What they found would test their resolve, drawing them deeper into the wilds’ dangers and delights.
(to be continued: Chapter#4 – Flames and Furs)
From Popi’s Tales & The Book of Wonders – Discover Shorty’s Sierra Menagerie
To start from the beginning? Go here: DohReyMe&theKitties3 [Chapter1]
also, fiction – about MWDs – in progress – K9LTW [chapter#1] [chapter#1]
Bonus Fiction Feature:
If you read any of the fiction I create here to the end, you will be able to download a free copy when It’s complete. If I get a referral from you, I’ll throw in the fiction – Burtt.
Related Links:
More from Popi’s Collection of Facts & Fiction
- Burtt the Blade – fiction
- Doh – Rey – Me – fiction – book – written here
- Mystery of Willow Woods – fiction – short Story – written here
- The Last Signal – part one – fiction – book – written here
- Rift Guardians – chapter#1 – fiction – book – written here
- Shorty’s Path – non-fiction auto biography book
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