Patsifer and the Falls Dragon, Part Two

As stated at the beginning of Part One: “The vulnerable part of this book, for me, is that I’m part dragon. Deep parts of me were moved and began to stir…”

In that year, 1999, I began to practice Dialectical Behavior Therapy for the treatment of Borderline Personality Disorder and waded into the deep end of working with chronically suicidal people to learn skills and build lives worth living. I joined the DBT Consultation Team, a requirement for all therapists doing this work. I found encouragement and learned skills through the exchange of stories and strategies, and the simple camaraderie of validating each other’s private experience of doing this profoundly challenging work.  

Now, in the thrilling conclusion, Patsifer goes online and undercover to facilitate dragon rescue procedures in classic feline style… That is, by sleeping through it, and skillfully dreaming, it turns out… 

Abbyca, arriving back at the house, joined Patsifer at their usual waiting position under Bentley's car. Patsifer had already begun her Bentley Calling Meditation in which she thought of him strokingly, the mental version of rubbing up against his legs and getting underfoot in the kitchen. Recently, Patsifer had found that she could also do this with Alden, the woman with whom Bentley had been keeping company. Alden was obviously a Cat Person since she included them in conversations and attended promptly to door and dish requirements. Abbyca had accepted her easily, climbing onto her lap at any opportunity and instructing her briskly in preferred petting techniques. Patsifer was a bit more circumspect, choosing to observe from a distance, but favoring her occasionally with the chance to scratch around her ears. 

Bentley soon opened the door and called as the cats scampered inside. He dumped some kibbles into the dish and told them he was off to visit Alden and not to wait up. Without further ado, he grabbed his coat and was out the door. Abbyca made straight for her dish, and with relish, began her evening meal. Patsifer took a few bites, but soon turned tail and marched purposefully to the living room. 

There on the couch sat the laptop. She approached cautiously, and though the screen was dark, she noticed that the little green light in the corner was flashing. She stepped forward to sniff it, and as her paw touched the space bar, the screen lit up. 

Now, Patsifer had spent many a long evening sharing Bentley's lap with his computer and some of that time had even stayed awake and attended to what he was doing. It had not looked difficult, and he seemed to find it very useful. Bentley had left the computer online, which was a relief since she had never yet bothered to watch him type in his password and didn't know what it was. She could tell that the AOL homepage was on the screen and knew that the advertisements were to be ignored. 

Gingerly, she touched the mouse pad with her paw and saw the little cursor on the screen jump. For a few minutes, she practiced sliding it around on the screen and clicking the little bar with her other paw, careful not to click on anything that might open up another page. She was pleased with her dexterity, and had a moment of fond feeling for whomever had named it a mouse pad. By this time Abbyca had finished the evening meal and had come to the living room to select a spot for her post-prandial nap. She was puzzled to see Patsifer on the computer. What could possibly be more interesting or important than a nap after dinner? 

Before she could ask, Patsifer said, "Could you help me? I'm going to do a search here, but I don't know how to spell ‘dragon.’ Or ‘help’ either, for that matter.” So Abbyca, who had many interesting skills she never used, jumped up on the couch and the two cats, one slim calico, one rotund gray tiger, picked out letters on the keyboard until finally, when Patsifer clicked on SEARCH, a long list of titles appeared that all contained the word DRAGON. 

Cats actually have fairly poor vision for detail, having chosen in the grand evolutionary sweepstakes to have better night vision than near sight. As a result, cats see the world rather like a person who has lost their glasses. When the list of titles appeared, Patifer and Abbyca looked at each other in dismay. They were able to read all the titles, but all the descriptions were in smaller type, and thus unreadably blurry.  Patsifer scrolled along, peering at titles like ‘Dragon Companionship Circle,’ ‘Dragons, Myth and Lore,’ ‘Sherazandra's Weyr,’ and ‘Contacting Your Inner Dragon.’ Nothing apparently useful for their dragon from the potholes. 

Abbyca sat up and was suddenly brisk to hide her disappointment, for while she was loath to admit it, she actually had been touched by the dragon's struggle. "Oh, hairball. Nice try, Patsifer. Frankly, I’m not surprised they haven't even begun to consider accessibility for other species when they design these computer things. Maybe we can send them a strong email and get them thinking in that direction… Right now, I have to rest up from all these exertions. I believe I'm plumb tuckered out.” Abbyca enjoyed sampling Bentley’s Southern Expressions; he was from a place called Georgia. 

Patsifer, scrolling along dejectedly, was about to give up when she saw a title and description in all caps. It read “TAPARNAD: THE AGENCY FOR THE PRESERVATION AND RESTORATION OF THE NORTH AMERICAN DRAGON. AN INTERACTIVE SITE FOR THE EDUCATION, RECRUITMENT, AND TRAINING OF TAPARNAD AGENTS AND THOSE INTERESTED IN OUR MISSION. SPECIAL ACCOMMODATIONS MADE FOR SPECIES OTHER THAN HUMANS.” She squeaked with delight and called out to Abbyca, who was already sound asleep, snug in the corner of the chintz chair. 

Patsifer selected the title with a quivering paw. When the page appeared, she selected CAT ACCESSIBLE TEXT. She read the explanation that TAPARNAD is a virtual community of individuals interested in protecting the North American Dragon, an endangered species closely related to, but different from, European and Eastern Dragons who have survived because of a richly complex and colorful tapestry of narrative tradition rooted in folklore, fantasy, and religion. The explanation continued on with elaborate scholarly, blah, blah, blah, and just when Patsifer was about to give up in disgust, she noticed a line at the bottom of the page that said: “To Report a Sighting.” She clicked on it and the whole screen changed, suddenly stark and technical. 

TAPANAD provided a thorough and detailed list of short answer questions about the sighting, which Patsifer answered carefully, pawstroke by pawstroke. After she had reported the salient details, TAPARNAD asked if she was interested in helping the dragon or simply wanted to report its whereabouts and condition. When she answered that she wanted to help if she could, the screen changed again. Under the elegant and complicated TAPARNAD seal, she was asked, through the use of cat-specific imagery, to swear to keep secret all the information she would receive, and reveal to no one the activities or intentions of the organization, its members, agents, or the dragons themselves, except in very specific circumstances, in accordance with the will of the entire TAPARNAD consensual body. 

Patsifer smiled to herself, a bit smugly perhaps, knowing her confidentiality skills were unsurpassed. Clicking the paw print next to the words “I swear,” TAPARNAD welcomed her into the Agency, restating their mission: Protecting the specifics of Dragon Intelligence made it possible for TAPARNAD operatives to carry out relief and rescue missions without damaging the vast well-tended web of Dragon Disinformation maintained by TAPARNAD, and, unwittingly, by your run-of-the-mill dragon fanatics. It turned out that many of the websites she had scrolled through were specifically mounted as distractions from the TAPARNAD site. 

After a few more formalities about reporting to information analysts and participating in discussion forums for decision making, Patsifer was given the address of a chat room where she could discuss her particular dragon with experienced operatives and learn about different strategies for dragon relief. Of course, the details of that discussion and several others that took place over the next week or two are classified and cannot be recounted to the uninitiated. 

Suffice to say that Abbyca found Patsifer to be more than usually taciturn and after questioning her closely about her intention to help the dragon, gave up, mystified. “You are such a puzzle, Patsifer. I had the impression that you and that dragon came to an understanding, and now you are acting like it was just a milk truck driving on by…” Patsifer pounced on the fly buzzing on the windowsill, and didn’t answer. 

Bentley, who was working on a project that involved a lot of time on the web, was puzzled to notice that he was getting lots of emails from something called TAPARNAD, which couldn't be opened without a password. Luckily for Patsifer, he saved them to a file, intending to search out TAPARNAD when he had a chance. She was able to read the notes and delete them before he could do so. Of course, he thought nothing of it, just another unsolvable computer mystery. 

Once, when Bentley fell asleep on the couch, he left the laptop on the floor beside him. He woke up to find Patsifer, paws on the mouse pad, peering intently at the screen. When she saw him watching her, she flopped down on the keyboard and rolled around, pretending to engage in a desperate struggle with the modem cord until the box popped up on the screen that said “Your session on AOL has been interrupted…” Then she sat up, and washed her ears, ignoring Bentley's chuckles and admonitions as he plugged in the cord and began to log on again. Aside from these aberrations, Patsifer's behavior for the next few weeks was unexceptionable. The only difference that might have been noticed was that Patsifer, by degrees, became more friendly to Alden, and even began to sleep on her during the night, curling up on her tummy or hip, and purring. Bentley commented on this behavior, that it was natural that Patsifer should like her because he liked her so much himself. 

Thus, no one noticed Patsifer’s deep sigh of pleasure and luxuriant stretch one morning when Alden said to Bentley over breakfast. “You know, I'm really wanting to do some writing. I think I'll walk down to the Falls this morning and look around. There's just something magical about that place… I think I dreamt about it again last night, but I can't remember.” 

That evening, as Bentley and Alden relaxed on the couch, Patsifer, with uncharacteristic boldness, jumped up between them and nestled in amongst their legs. Abbyca, arriving a moment later, heaped herself onto Alden's lap. 

Bentley asked how her exploration down at the Falls had gone and Alden said “Great.” She pulled out a scrap of paper from her pocket. “I wrote down an idea. I'll read it to you: ‘At the potholes beside the falls, a dragon emerges from the rock, an awesome beast with massive deeply muscled limbs, a hide striped with layers of unimaginable time, fearsome wings and tail, and a face of profound sadness. On its haunch you can see the graffiti: ‘Jason and Courtney, ‘97’. From behind this dragon's cavernous ear rolls a Budweiser can and a small shower of cigarette butts. Stretching and looking around, the dragon's massive tail sweeps aside a picnic basket and a couple of folding chairs as it lifts ponderously into the air, wings beating slowly with great gusts of wind. A group of Japanese tourists having their photo taken, lose their hats and clutch at their clothing, but never notice the great hovering dragon, nor hear its howl a hundred times louder than the rushing falls.’” 

Bentley beamed at her and said, “I think that's just great. You're such a good writer. I can really see that scene just as you've described it. What was the dragon doing stuck in the rock?”

“Well," Alden paused and stared at the ceiling. "What if a dragon is a full spectrum sort of creature, able to transform through many levels of vibration, like water going from solid ice to liquid to invisible vapor, only on an even broader spectrum that most of us can't perceive. You know how there are various stories about dragons with all kinds of powers? What if the explanation for that variety was not in the imagination of the storyteller, but in the transmutable nature of dragons themselves? What if this dragon has been frozen, stuck in a very slow, solid form?” 

Bentley opened his mouth a few times and then closed it. Patsifer rolled over on her back and purred loudly, letting him rub her tummy. Alden went on, “So what would it take to free the dragon? What is it that makes a dragon live?” She addressed this question to Abbyca, switching her rhythmic scratching from Abbyca's chin to around her ears. Abbyca pretended she could answer no questions, given her current experience of bliss. 

Bentley was intent on tucking his finger among the pads of Patsifer’s toes. She hardly ever let him play with her this way, and he was making the most of the opportunity. He said, “Well, one thing dragons all seem to have in common, the ones we know about at least, is a story. You're the therapist. Why don't you write a story and find out? Maybe it's a Velveteen Rabbit kind of thing; if the dragon has a story, then it becomes real.”

Patsifer, beside herself with delight at what she was hearing, nipped Bentley's hand and leapt into the air. Bentley grinned at Alden and said, “Well, I guess she had enough of that.” Alden put her own foot into his hand and said, "Here, do mine instead.”

 Abbyca, joining Patsifer at the dish a short time later said, "So it looks like Alden's going to write about that poor dragon. What I'm wondering is how she saw it so clearly. "Come to think of it, you’ve been sleeping on her lately, haven’t you?”

Patsifer continued to crunch kibbles meditatively but couldn't resist a bit of musical purring. 

“I guess you're pretty pleased with yourself then,” Abbyca said, forgetting completely to snack. "I’m beginning to have my doubts about Alden, though. Lately she makes me vocalize when I want her to dish up kibbles. What’s she going to do with the dragon? Make it sing ballads?” 

Pausing before turning her attention to the water dish, Patsifer asked mildly, “And would it be such a bad thing if she did?”

I want to express deep gratitude for Rick Lewis and all my friends, and yet-to-be friends, at WriteHearted, a writer’s community here on Substack. For a couple of years I wandered in the Substack wilderness, mostly too terrified (in a frozen dragon kind of way) to post while I was finishing my book, The Frontiers of Pleasure. Now I’m having so much fun discovering the conversational adventures that happen among writers doing their own work and playing around with inspiring and encouraging each other to grow in the art and craft of writing, which is really the art and craft of living well. If you are a writer, interested in community and conversational adventures, check it out: