A couple of days ago, P went to feed the cats, and found one of the original cats, called Warrior Girl, had been killed by a coyote. It was heartbreaking.
When I was cold enough to come in from the ocean, I’d wrap myself in a towel and lie down on my father’s sun-warmed back. I’d snuggle my face into the nape of his neck and dream. He never once complained about having a cold, wet kid draped on him, dripping on the newspaper.