Twinkling constellations danced in an indigo sky that oversaw the dénouement of dusk in a magical mountain meadow.  Spruce and fir trees shimmered like crystal in their respective shades of green.  Velvet beds of grass and wildflowers invited families of reindeer to browse.  A rustic foot bridge stretched casually over a brook; a path from the bridge led to a cozy log cabin.  Above the scene, surrounded by a paper frame of delicate cut-out snowflakes and angels, hung a cross-stitch sampler rendered in green and red and gold thread with the sentiment "There’s No Place Like Home."
     While the man stood studying the panorama, shoppers emerged from the co-op across the parking lot, detouring from the walk to their cars to stroll toward the window.  They stood near him with shopping bags in their arms looking at the display, unaware that he had constructed it.
     "Isn’t that clever using cut glass bottles filled with green liquid to signify trees?  The light shines through them and imitates how they sparkle."
     "It does evoke that festive feeling, kind of like luminarias.  Oh, and do you remember playing with Lincoln Logs as a child!  I haven’t seen those in forever.  Real wood.  Everything’s plastic now."
     The shoppers moved on and the man followed soon after, feeling comforted that he’d been able to make something from what he had -- a couple of bags of miscellaneous donations the back room crew hadn’t sorted yet.  He carried his basket containing the things he’d selected that morning past the
co-op, noticing its window looked plain with nothing but a couple of fliers advertising holistic workshops taped to the glass.
     Before sundown on Sunday the man was carrying a bag of organic catfood away from the co-op and shoppers were admiring the found-art styled window dressing at the grocery cooperative’s main entrance.
     The man carefully ripped a pouring spout in the bag of catfood and laid out a paper shopping sack on the ground of their camp site.  The orange tabby came running from its nap as soon as he tore the bag and the black cat and gray tabby arrived by the time he’d spread out the sack.  He dumped a modest pile of catfood on the sack and divided it into three mounds with his fingers.
     "Okay you guys, dig in.  Don’t get used to it, though.  This is a special treat."
     The man poured water into the plastic bowl and set it close to the feeding felines.  He took a pull from the canteen for himself and settled down on the ground, sitting crossed-legged.  From his knapsack he drew out the airline-serving sized packet of beer nuts -- the last of the Halloween grub -- tore it open, emptied the meager contents in his hand and shoveled half of the handful into his mouth.  He munched slowly.  After he finished the other half, he dug into the knapsack again to extract a day-old deli
sandwich.
     "I’m not gonna tell you guys that along with your catfood I scored a t - u - n - a  sandwich for myself."  The man untwisted the plastic wrap sealing the sandwich and set one half of the sandwich on his knee while he rewrapped the other half and put it back in the knapsack.  He took the half from his knee into both hands and brought it up to his mouth.  The aroma of whole wheat bread and fresh fish reached his nostrils.  He bit into the sandwich and held the bite in his mouth for a second to savor the taste of non-discarded food.  After chomping a few more times on the sandwich, the man paused to brush off a little moisture that had accumulated on his lower eyelid.  They must use a touch of horseradish in the mayo, he thought.
     Each of the cats had consumed its portion of the crunchy rations.  The man got up and went to his cardboard box to retrieve the brush and comb he’d earned earlier in the week.  He moved over to where the cats were grooming themselves after the meal and gently approached the black one.  He reached
out his hand with measured speed until the cat noticed him.  The cat sniffed his hand.  He stroked its head and back lightly with his fingertips first, then with the brush.  It closed its eyes and dipped its head in the path of the brush so that the bristles grazed the side of its face.  The man brushed around its head for several minutes.  He guided the brush to ease through small mats of fur on the cat’s neck.  As the knots untangled the cat lowered itself on its front paws and hiked up its hind quarters.  It began to purr.
     "Yeah, you remember how it used to be, too, don’t ya buddy?"
     The man maneuvered the brush along the cat’s back and tail.  It sat down with its belly flat on the ground sphinx-style.  The man continued brushing.  The cat continued purring.  It rolled over on its back and the man very carefully brushed its belly.
     The two tabbies got their turns.  On a couple of ornery spots on the orange tabby’s tail the man used the wide-toothed comb.  He used it on himself next, patiently pulling it through his short curly sand-colored hair until none of the strands were intertwined.  Enough dusklight remained for the man to judge his efforts in the shaving mirror.  He moved his head to the left and then to the right.
     "Tomorrow, me boys, I’ll have to shave," he informed the cats in an exaggerated Irish accent.  "Then you’ll be right proud to introduce me as your friend and faithful companion, Sean."
     Sean chuckled.  "And with you lookin’ like show cats now, I’d be proud to introduce you, too.  But you ne’er told me your names!"
     Meow, the gray tabby said.
     "Hmmm.  Well, how ‘bout this. Seein’ as you all are a troupe of sorts, we’ll call you," Sean pointed to the gray tabby, "Three."
     Sean pointed to the orange tabby.  "And we’ll call you Musket."
     Sean winked at the black cat.  "And we’ll call you Tears!"
     Meow, the black cat said.
     "Well, it’s short for Apache Tears, okay?"
     Meow.
     "No, it’s not a sad name.  Apache Tears are a kind of black stone that shines very beautifully, just like your fur."
     Meow.
     A full moon had risen high before the newly christened cats and Sean bedded down.  As had become their habit, the cats curled up underneath the mesquite bush against the cardboard box and Sean lay out nearby.  During the night some or all of the cats would generally migrate over to Sean and nestle in the fabric along his legs.
     Perhaps the odor of the catfood or the tuna sandwich attracted it; or perhaps it was simply making its usual sweep of its territory and came upon them as a matter of course.  A throaty growl awakened Sean.  The predawn sky silhouetted blurry shapes in his vision.  The two tabbies stood by his legs with their backs arched and their fur fluffed out twice its normal size.  Musket was growling and Three was hissing and spitting furiously.  Sean gasped.  Approaching them with its ears back and its lips curled up to expose its canine teeth was a coyote.  A plaintive mew came from behind Sean.  He looked over his shoulder to see Tears crouched under the mesquite bush.  The black cat darted its head left and right trying to decide in which direction to run.
     "Stay put, Tears!" whispered Sean.  He spotted a couple of fist-sized rocks just beyond reach and was very slowly inching his hand toward one when Tears bounded away.
     The coyote, excited by the movement of natural prey, streaked after the cat.  Sean jumped up, grabbed the rock and half ran, half stumbled several yards to where the coyote had captured Tears.  The dog-faced beast stared at Sean with unblinking coal colored eyes.  Its sharp teeth were wrapped around
a limp chunk of black fur with four dangling legs and a tail.
     Sean curled up his own lips and grated his throat in a raging growl that transmuted into a roar.  He hurled the rock at the coyote.  It struck the gray coated creature on its shoulder.  The coyote retreated half a step but didn’t relinquish its mouthful of cat.  Sean stooped to grab another rock and burst forward onto the coyote.  Keeping the rock in his hand, Sean slammed it down on the coyote’s long narrow forehead.  Involuntarily the coyote’s jaw sprung open, releasing Tears.
     The coyote yelped and shook its head.  Recovering quickly, it growled at Sean and lunged at him.  Its teeth ripped into Sean’s sleeve.  He bashed at its head again and tried to shove it away with his opposite arm.  The effort knocked him off balance and he plunged to the ground.  The coyote went for his throat.  He pulled his knees up to his chest and churned the air with his feet, striking several blows against the coyote’s shoulders and face.  With one thrust his heel jabbed into the soft flesh under the coyote’s ribs.  The coyote reeled back and suddenly bolted away.
     Sean looked wildly around trying to locate Musket and Three.  They had vanished.  Desperately hoping the coyote wouldn’t recover for a few minutes, Sean crawled over to where Tears lay on the ground.  The cat’s body showed the red of blood spread on black fur around its neck and stomach.  At first Sean detected no movement.  He knelt down close to Tears and watched the ribcage.  From that vantage point he saw the faint and very rapid rising and falling of Tears’ chest.
     Pressing his lips together, Sean reached out gently with his right hand, tracing Tears’ spine between his index and middle fingers.  All the vertebrae felt normal -- intact and connected.  He checked all the patches of blood.  None seemed to be actively oozing or spurting.  Sean closed his eyes for a second and took in a deep breath.  He exhaled and lifted himself up from the ground.  In a few moments he returned with the basket lined with one of his sleeping blankets.
     "Hey there brave one, Sean’s gonna take you to the hospital and get you all fixed up, okay?  So just take it easy and breath slower -- but don’t stop breathing -- and hang in there so the vet can take a look at those bites."
     Sean lifted the lid to one side of the basket.  With tender, smooth movements he lifted Tears by the scruff, cradled the cat in the crook of his arm and lowered the traumatized creature into the basket.
     Meow.
     "Oh, Musket you came back!  Thank goodness!"
     Sean stretched out his hand to the orange tabby.  It trotted up to him and rubbed its face against his hand while keeping its eyes roving anxiously back and forth.  Sean stroked it a few times reassuringly on its head.
    "Hey kid, I think the you-know-what is gone.  We gotta get Tears help right away.  You can lay in the basket and keep him company can’t ya?"
     Continuing to give Musket comforting touches Sean picked the tabby up and set it in the other side of the basket.  Musket sniffed at Tears and mewed then laid its head lightly against Tears’ rear paws.  Sean checked to make sure Tears was still breathing.  The rhythm of the cat’s respiration had slowed to a more normal pace.  Sean scanned the camp site again hoping to spot Three.  He saw the gray tabby hunched under a creosote bush about twenty yards away.
     "Three! Come on, it’s safe to come out.  We’ve gotta take your buddy to the doctor pronto.  Come on over here.  That’s right."
     With some verbal coaxing Three finally snuck over to Sean and received the same calming strokes.  When Sean tried to position the third member of the party into the basket it resisted at first but eventually settled in after parlaying for space with Musket.
     Sean set out with a rapid walking stride toward the road, which led to the bridge.  The early hour meant most people would be driving to work and would not be likely to have the time or inclination to stop for a hitchhiker.  Still, he held out his thumb once he reached pavement as he continued with frantic steps toward downtown.
     On the bridge a bicyclist pedaled awkwardly past him on an old-style Schwinn with wide handlebars, a front basket and saddlebag baskets across the rear tire.  The woman wore a long, full skirt of black broadcloth and a white cotton blouse buttoned up to the collar.  Her dark hair, which appeared to have been shampooed several days earlier, hung in a sloppy unstyled cut half way between short and shoulder-length.  She backpedaled to apply the brake on her bicycle and glanced through thick eyeglasses at Sean.
     "Good morning," she said in a loud voice because of the distance.  "You look, uh, like you might have a problem."  She glanced at the wicker basket.
     "Yeah.  One of my cats got attacked by a coyote and I need to get him to a vet really fast," Sean replied, not pausing to converse.  He strode past the woman and she dismounted her bicycle to walk along.  "I don’t even know where an animal hospital is but I gotta find out and get Tears there right away."
     An expression of compassion flooded the woman’s face.  "Oh my gosh, how awful.  I have eighteen cats of my own.  Oh, that’s just dreadful.  I can tell you the closest place is just a mile down then make a right and go to the next light and make a left.  It’s down about four blocks from there.  They open pretty early."
     "Thanks.  At least I know where I’m going now, if anyone stops for me."
     "Yeah.  There’s a bus that takes that route and it stops along Mill, too.  It runs every half hour.  Let me see if I have change for you."  The woman rummaged in the pockets of her skirt, locating three quarters, three nickels, six dimes and four pennies.  "Great, I have enough."  She glanced at the basket again.  "Could I just take a quick peek?"
     Sean stopped walking and looked up and down the street surveying for cars that might be dangerously close in case Musket or Three decided to bolt.  He gingerly raised the half of the lid under which Tears was lying.
     "Ooohhh.  Look at the blood.  Oh, the poor thing," the woman said.  "And the other two are safeguarding their companion.  That’s amazing."
     A city bus, plastered with a painted advertisement showing a gigantic pair of Oreo cookies and a glass of milk, whisked past.  As it approached a bus stop sign half a block ahead, its brake lights flashed on.
     "Oh!" the woman said.  She hopped on her bicycle and pedaled toward the bus, waving one hand in the air.  The bus had pulled up to the bus stop and halted when she caught up to it.  Checking for traffic, she guided her bike to the driver’s window and pointed toward the man, yelling something to the driver.  She nodded her head and beckoned to the man with her hand.  By the time the man reached the bus, the money had already been deposited in the box for him to board.
     He reached the hospital in twenty minutes.  Placing the basket on the countertop space beneath the "Check In" sign, he said, "It’s an emergency.  Little Tears got attacked by a coyote."
     "So, you don’t have an appointment?"  asked the girl behind the counter with a cute animal print blouse and a name tag reading "Tammy."
     "No.  It just happened."
     "I’m sorry to hear that.  What was your pet’s name again?"
     "Tears."
     "T-E-A-R-S? Is that right?  And what is your name, please, sir?"
      "That’s right.  My name’s Sean Cahill."
     "Have you been in to see us before, Mr. Cahill?"
     "No.  I just got them a few days ago."
     "Them?"
     "The three cats."
     All three cats and Sean waited in Exam Room 4 for half an hour.  A man about Sean’s age entered the room.  He was carrying a clipboard; he wore a lab coat, a name tag "Dr. Blanstein," and a professional but seemingly genuine smile.
     Extending his hand to shake Sean’s, he said, "Hi there. I’m Dr. Blanstein."  He consulted the clipboard.  "So...Tears had an encounter with a coyote?"
     Sean shook his head to confirm.
     "Let’s take a look."
     Sean opened one lid of the basket and hauled out Musket.  The veterinarian looked puzzled.  Musket took a couple of steps away from the basket and sat down to watch Sean.  Sean lifted out Three.  The veterinarian looked surprised.  The gray tabby settled down beside his fellow spectator.
     Sean opened the other lid of the basket and pointed to Tears.  "I don’t think his back got broken and he’s still breathing.  I couldn’t really tell much about the bites because I didn’t want to hurt him more by looking at them.  Can you give him something for pain before you check him out?"
     "Sure," the vet said, already pulling open a drawer and selecting a syringe from inside it.  He gently swabbed the inside of Tears’ left rear leg and eased the needle under the skin.  Tears gave a faint cry -- the first sound it had made since being mauled.  "This will take a few minutes to take effect, so we’ll just wait before even getting her weight and other vitals, Mr. Cahill.
     "By the way, Tears is a ‘she.’  I know that sometimes it’s hard to tell underneath all that fur.  I’d guess the three of them are litter mates, or one of them is the mother of the other two.  You’d don’t usually see cats sticking together like this unless they’re related."
     The vet bent over Tears to exam her wounds without touching her.
     "While we’re letting the drug do its work, Mr. Cahill, let’s discuss a couple of things.  First, and I realize this is a difficult issue, I’ll inform you of all the different treatment options for Tears and what the
cost is for each.  This will allow you to make the best possible decision."
     Sean looked at Tears.  Her mouth was open a little and her pink tongue peeped out.  Her green eyes were open.  She stared up at him without blinking.  The blood on her fur had lost its glisten and was beginning to dry except at the wound sites.
     "Dr. Blanstein, I want Tears to get all the treatment she needs.  I want that," Sean said, turning to look at the vet.  "I’ll be honest.  I don’t have a job.  And maybe I’ve let that bog me down a bit for a while.
But now I want something. I want Tears to be okay. I really really want it."
     The vet unobtrusively took note of Sean’s clothing and his state of grooming.  "I understand, Mr. Cahill.  Then we will do everything possible for Tears."  He paused and directed his eyes straight into Sean’s.  "Her wounds are serious.  There’s a chance she won’t survive, but I promise we will do our best.  By now at least she isn’t suffering pain."
     Both men glanced at the injured cat.  The vet continued, "Once we’re done in here we’ll go to the front desk and we can work out a payment plan for you.  Okay, Mr. Cahill?"
     "Sure."  Sean shifted his body and drew up his shoulders.  "I know what you’re probably thinking, Dr. Blanstein, that you’ll never see the money for this."  His lips shaped into a knowing smile.  "I don’t blame you, it’s a common reaction.  But I promise you, I will pay you."
     The exam room door came flying open and the woman with the black skirt and white blouse rushed in.
     "Hi Dr. B.  Hi there, Mr. Cat Man," she said.  She raised her hand and flashed a peace sign,  "How’s the patient, Doc?" she said, hunching over to look at Tears.
     A week later Sean stepped off the bus and entered the veterinarian hospital to pick up Tears from the boarding kennel where she’d been recuperating.  He carried the wicker basket with Three and Musket curled up inside, waiting for the reunion.  In his pocket was curled a small wad of ten dollar bills he’d earned for creating a window dressing and floor display for Ye Old Booke Shoppe.
     Riding the return bus back out across the bridge and toward the no-man’s land where he’d established a new campsite Sean gazed out of the huge tinted windows.  Only lights from the stores and the traffic signals and the headlamps and taillamps of cars penetrated the smoky-colored surface of the glass.  He noticed giant star shapes floating in mid-air.  Pressing his nose to the window he peered out more intently.  City workers had installed Christmas lights in all the white birch trees that lined Mill Avenue.  Swirls of white fairy lights, five-pointed stars the size of coffee tables and outlined figures of Santa in a sleigh hung from the perfectly groomed trees.
     "Would you look at that, gang?" he whispered to the trio nestled inside the basket.  "It’s not even Thanksgiving yet and they’re breaking out the Christmas stuff."  He smiled a tiny smile.  "I guess that’s good news for us, though."
     Thanksgiving came and went.  The night before Christmas Eve arrived.  Sean sat at an outdoor table of the cafe that sprawled at the foot of the Mill Avenue bridge.  He sipped hot chocolate from a large mug and watched the last minute shoppers scurry in and out of the boutiques along the promenade.  Moisture from the nearby lake and a cold front moving in from the Gulf of Mexico combined to chill the air.
     Sean pulled the lapels of his jacket together.  It was the same one he’d worn two months ago while scouting the perimeters of the Halloween street festival but he’d washed it and hung it carefully to dry so it draped on his frame smoothly with no wrinkles.  Underneath the jacket he wore a different shirt earned from the Free Store.  Its shade of hunter green occurred in the plaid of the jacket, creating a coordinated ensemble.  He’d laundered his denim pants as well.
     Tears sat quietly on the chair next to him.  She stood up and sprung onto his lap and eased into the channel formed by his legs.  He stroked her head and neck.  His fingers swept the areas where her fur had been shaved in order to allow the vet to clean and stitch her wounds.  The fur had just begun to grow back.  It covered her skin with a velvety coat that felt like baby hair.  The two tabbies lounged on top of the table, their tails hanging over the edge.
     Shoppers drifted to their cars; shopkeepers closed their doors and locked up for the night.  Sean began strolling down the cobblestone sidewalk.  Along each side of the walkway the windowed storefronts displayed fantastic holiday tableaus, creating a patchwork of light and color that bathed the abandoned street in a magical luminescence.  Uninspired slabs of concrete and steel beams were transformed into an outdoor cathedral of radiant stained glass.
     The antique store featured a 1:35 scale model train with a figure-eight track traced across the length of the window stage.  The track lay on a wall tapestry depicting ancient cartographic drawings of the globe.  The woven material had been draped on the floor of the display area and contoured over a constructed surface of curved mounds and rectangular platforms.
     Costumed dolls wearing ethnic outfits of cultures from around the world had been arranged to stand along the route of the miniature track.  Their cloth and porcelain hands were outstretched toward one another to form a continual stream flowing in the shape of infinity.  The costumes, exquisite bundles of color, splashed red and green, blue, yellow, orange, purple, pink, cocoa, vermilion, magenta, lime and coral upon the glass canvas of the window.  They floated on a sea of gold and copper fabric, which was the tapestry.  Tiffany table lamps anchored each corner of the window, shining their own kaleidoscopes of color.
     "Hey, you in the K-Mart designer jacket, move on!  You don’t belong here."   The command came from the bulging-bellied man wearing the Event Staff polo shirt.
    He advanced on Sean, swinging his heavy, long-barreled flashlight.  Sean instinctively gripped the basket holding Three, Musket and Tears more tightly.  He swung the carrier to his side opposite where the man was approaching to shield it.
     "I said, move on."  The man’s hair, which was combed flat and close to his head, was held in place by its own oil.
     Sean waited for the man to come close enough so he didn’t have to shout back an answer.  The man glared at him.  Sean pointed to a handwritten business card displayed on a tiny easel next to one of the Tiffany lamps in the store window.  "Know who that is?" he asked politely.
     "What?" the guard asked in a gruff, demanding voice.
     "That’s me.  I designed this window."  Sean motioned to the ice cream store across the street.  "And that one."  He indicated the art film movie theatre.  "And both of those."
     The security guard eyed Sean incredulously.
     "With all due respect," Sean said, focusing his gaze on the man’s name tag, "Bob, sir, I have a right to be here.  I belong.  This is my home.  And I’m not planning to move on any time soon."