[Draft 11-3-2025]
feather & fur – parting ways
a 21st century fable
Copyright © 2025 John P. Healy
(humility’s hard done by)
Claws in the night
In the murky stillness, something sharp hit his head, knocking him to the ground. Rising to his knees, claws tore into his back. He howled in pain. Then there was just chatter. A voice said, “Zach, are you okay?” His fur was wet with sweat, not blood. The dream was over.
But later Zach was not so sure …
A bitter fruit
Zach stared sadly at the sign in the fig grove. The sign stood witness to how his monkey tribe treated the trees as precious resources for their community.
The grove had always seemed like a holy place while growing up. This reverence had been passed to Zach by his father Zeke, via annual rituals and as part of his rite of passage in becoming a tribal steward.
Now that sign had been defaced. “Gatherways” had been crossed out with a bright red ‘X’, above which was spelled out “UNfair” – as if to read “UNfair Fig Farm.” He wasn’t sure if blood had been used. But below the sign on the ground was a skeleton of some type of fish.
His tribe was not alone in prizing figs. So, agreements had been made. Particularly with the parrot flock. Long ago, a Community Council of sorts had agreed to a set of expectations, ground rules for sharing the crop and storing the harvest.
This understanding was important in tough times. In recent years, fig production had declined. Other food sources had waned as well, as sometimes the soil dried out and cracked.
So, the recent harvest was essential. The dried figs were a critical cache for the coming winter and into spring.
Making-do
(add dialog)
Zach returned to the village and reported the incident. He talked with Zeke, who counseled him to go about his daily chores as usual. “No need to panic everyone. The rumor mill will spread the news soon enough.”
In the mean time, Zeke chatted with some other Council members. All of them were flustered. They decided to put fig leaves temporarily over the damaged part of the sign.
Unsettled rounds
During the day, Zach got some odd looks now and then as he went about his duties. But there was no general commotion. The common level of trust remained – that the situation was being addressed.
So, near the end of the day, as Zach noted the leaves stuck to the sign in the grove, he mused, “Well, as least nothing else looks out of ordinary.”
Returning to his village, Zach checked the food warehouse one more time as darkness descended on the valley. There was a whiff of uncertainty in the air.
Befuddled field
It didn’t take long. Just a few days. Other signs appeared.
One morning Zach found a few placards staked in the ground on the outskirts of the fig grove, as well as near intersections of major paths in the valley:
One of his buddies said, “Zach, word has it that Council member Rufus started a protest movement. The placards are his design.”
While tending to the grove, Roland, one of Zack’s uncles, approached. He paused, then remarked, “You look puzzled and unsure. Like, what the heck is going on?”
Zach shrugged, “Yeah, are things really unfair?”
Roland replied, “Well … there’s history … old grievances … in some parts of the valley. Maybe we can do better. That’s where you can help.
“More might be said, but let’s wait for the upcoming general Council meeting.”
Zach looked down, frustrated. He would have liked further explanation. But he knew that Roland didn’t like to feed the rumor mill. If Rufus was behind this … if “unfair” was just an outright lie … what other animals might be involved … Why now?
Squawk
General meetings of the Council were held in the village’s Community Center. This evening the chamber was packed. Even the balcony area had been opened. And more animals stood in the foyer.
Calling the meeting to order, Zeke slightly smiled and said, “We all know why we’re here this evening. So, let’s skip other formalities and go directly to public comments.”
But it never got to that. Immediately some unfamiliar voices shouted out, “Is it true? Is it true?”
Zeke turned to the other Council members, and was about to reply. But Rufus ruffled his wings, and spoke, “That’s a good question!
“I’ve heard that figs are being hoarded. I’ve heard that figs are not being shared equally. Some say the old ways are no longer fair.
“I call on the Council to investigate possible corruption of caretaking! To create a task force.”
The reaction was swift. More voices this time shouted out, “Find out! Find out!”
Other Council members looked stunned. Zeke looked around. This was not normal. He was reluctant to accept Rufus’ call, but realized that other Council members felt blindsided as well. He called for order … but didn’t wait for silence.
So, Zeke made a proposal, “Rufus, would you like to head up such a Task Force?”
Rufus calmly replied, “I’d be honored to do so … but I’d like to appoint my cousin Dread to lead the investigation. Due to my other responsibilities, I can only provide some oversight. Would that be acceptable?”
Zeke realized that he’d been backed into a corner. There was the smell of fear.
Drumbeat
Soon after, mini-macaws and a few other unfamiliar small mammals starting picketing outside Council members’ homes.
Other protesters squawked or chattered at workers entering or exiting the various agricultural fields.
Some crops started to suffer.
Zach’s nightmare returned, filled with attacks from shadows, claws against his fur, bloody fig leaves blowing in the wind.
Ruckus
(add dialog)
The Council met, ostensibly to discuss the findings of Rufus’ Task Force chairman Dread. They moved quickly to that part of the agenda. But there was no presentation on policy or procedure. Instead, Dread immediately began personal finger-pointing.
He confronted Council elder Zeke. Dread verbally attacked Zeke – essentially punched him in the face repeatedly. Dread accused him of wasteful practices and making secret deals. Zeke attempted to counter with facts on the matter, but Dread retorted with whataboutisms and personal innuendo. Zeke was dumbfounded, appeared inept. Other Council members were dazed & dumb.
Viewing the confrontation – the verbal smackdown – traumatized Zack, causing him to flee into the nearby grove.
Ahoy there, there
Zach collapsed near the sign in the fig grove. He broke down and sobbed. His thoughts overwhelmed with worry.
What can his dad do? Fellow monkey elders appeared disoriented, dispirited.
In the depths of Zach’s despair, a rarely seen animal appeared, rumored to be a troll-like hermit. Gnarled in guise, wearing an eyepatch. That animal was an old, wizened parrot, a former pirate – Mirage.
Perched nearby Zach, Mirage ruffled his feathers and said, “Ahoy there! I too took refuge here … long ago … when overwhelmed with worry.”
Zach looked up and said, “You are a odd looking parrot. Why have I not seen you before?”
Mirage ruffled his feathers again, “Aye, it be the my years on the sea that present me so. A harsh life, full of highs & lows. But I’m not fish food yet!”
“You sound like a … a pirate?”
“Aye, matey, … you appear to be someone shaken by a storm or in fear of one on the horizon. There be no safe harbor near, but perhaps I can scope your sorrow. Tales there be, regrets there be, lessons of loot & loss.”
Zack sighed, “It’s just, just that I’ve always treasured reason & respect. But now that’s losing to lies. I am frighted for my family, for my community.”
“Aye, fear be a powerful thing. Interested in a story, matey?”
“Of piracy?”
“Aye, of piracy & plunder. Of navigating the shoals of power.”
A razor’s edge
So, Mirage counseled Zach. He shared stories of piracy, the edgy way to craft a reputation which won battles – something more important than the number of cannons. It was a way to win a prize without even a fight – the other side just surrenders.
One day, after finishing a tale of terror on the sea, Mirage reminisced, “Aye, young Rufus loved my tales. But unlike other offspring, Rufus took plunder & power to heart. He resisted letting those stories fade into folklore, become forgotten fame.
“Rufus longed to be a legend like he heard in my tales. I think he never forgave me when I chose another path. By then my memories no longer comforted me. I saw courage in a new way … perhaps something harder than piracy.”
Mirage’s stories amazed Zach, but also helped focus his anger. Their conversations braced him for moving forward.
On another day, away from village activity, on a rocky bluff, a barren place without importance, Zach & Mirage looked at the landscape.
Mirage said, “Zach, there’s no buried treasure here. But treasure there be. It’s in plain sight. And it can be plundered. What do you see? What do you think I see with one eye that those whole do not?”
Zach did a 360, seeing green, brown, arid spaces. The distant glint of the sea. “I see home, I see something unfinished, I see hard work. There’s something precious in peril.”
Mirage replied, “Aye, indeed, what is the path forward? Is there a role for you?”
Zach looked down at the scruffy moss here and there between rocks. He felt the stiff breeze over the bluff. “Perhaps, but I am not ready.”
Mirage almost whispered, “We never are.” Then distinctly, “What are your ‘weapons’? The ways we’ve talked about?” He paused … then smiled and said, “Without becoming a pirate, eh?”
Zack sighed, smiled back, “Yes, you’ve offered choices, a path perhaps … I need to get others on board, as shipmates. Build a coalition, a salty crew … and capture the local chatter. It’s an arena, but need not be a cage fight.”
Zack connected with other parrot flocks. Smaller birds that Rufus had treated like slave labor, exploited for gathering and delivering food, their voices silenced with fear.
And there were other smaller mammals which received food aid via monkey inspired care customs. Rufus scared them as well.
He began to understand that Rufus’ actions were never about a better way. Not about a middle way. Not about common rules.
(add dialog)
Zack and his dad got to work. Together, they charted a path.
Zeke became an organizer, a spokesperson, for a coalition [not a political party]. He understood that the monkey way was still supported by the majority of animals. But that majority had become complacent.
Collaborative stewardship remained a shared principle, but had lost vibrancy in daily affairs. Renewed messaging was vital – to restore relevancy.
And collective care was popular, when separated from political labels.
It was a hard road forward. Fraught with friction from Rufus’ faction and a fragile economy. Rumor still ran over reason. Parley seemed pointless. The specter of criminal oversight loomed over the landscape.
(add dialog)
There remained the vote. Of the Council. Rufus still abided by Council majority decisions.
Zack wondered, “Can the Council be trusted? To see through the fog of all the fuss? … My dad’s only one vote.”
In Zach’s dreams, often a feathered demon chased him. Sometimes he stood lost in a fractured landscape, holding upright – like a flag – a huge bloody feather which dripped on his shoulder.
A reset
(add dialog)
As it so happened, chance intervened.
Zach sat in the fig grove, looking at the damage. The Gatherways sign was gone. All that marked its former spot were torn stubs of the support posts. He sighed. Perhaps it might be found nearby later. But that was the least of his worries. The loss was widespread. He rose and continued patrolling the area.
A severe storm had hit the area, damaging homes and crops, particularly the figs. Parts of other crops were lost as well.
It was a long day & night for everyone in the valley. Many in the villages had found some shelter. But elsewhere the wind & rain broke trees, trapped animals in debris.
There were victims. No tribe or flock was untouched by tragedy.
Some nests were torn apart, their eggs broken on the ground. Some hatchlings drowned.
Some smaller animals were overcome by mud in their dens.
A pregnant monkey was crushed by a falling tree.
An attempted stream rescue went bad.
Then the sun beat down on the landscape, accompanied by a warm wind, quickly drying some sections.
A few arid patches became parched and cracked once again. Here & there, left by scavengers, there were remnants of feather & fur caked with blood.
The Council met outdoors, while awaiting repairs to the Community Center. With scant discussion, everyone agreed to connect with those in need, treat the injured, honor the lost, supply necessities; and begin to recover and rebuild as required.
Everyone pitched in.
The Council oversaw release of emergency supplies and food.
Rufus’ “Parrot Air” delivery service was repurposed as free “Air Aid” for rapid delivery of lightweight items to isolated animals. His “fauna4food” agenda was displaced (but not deep-sixed).
Mirage became an icon. “Aye, choppy seas call for courage, matey!”
Notes
[1] Additional background on this fable and its characters is available on my Author’s notes – the future of “feather & fur” page.
And my Author’s workshop notes – “feather & fur” page.
[2] “A razor’s edge” is an homage to the 1944 novel The Razor’s Edge by W. Somerset Maugham. Wiki notes:
The novel’s title comes from a translation of a verse in the Katha Upanishad [which means “Rise, wake up, seek the wise and realize. The path is difficult to cross like the sharpened edge of the razor (knife), so say the wise.”], paraphrased in the book’s epigraph as: “The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard.”