In the mountains where Marion Sylder runs whiskey, John Wesley Rattners hunts and traps, Uncle Ather ceaselessly walks to oversee and keep track of changes, there is a painter cat who does what predators do; survives by stalking and killing prey.
Softly and with a slow grace her leathered footpads fell, hind tracking fore with a precision profoundly feline, a silken movement where her shoulders rolled, haunches swayed. (p. 216)
When Uncle Ather is taken into custody for shooting up a government tank and shooting a few officers who come to arrest him, he is visited by a government agent who tells him he is there to help him, seeking information about this strange old man. He leaves, somewhat unfulfilled and totally at a loss to understand Ather.
The agent thanked the desk sargeant as he passed through the outer room. He swung the briefcase to his left hand and dabbed his handerkerchief upon his forehead. Over the worn runner on the flagged hall floor his steps were soundless and he moved with a slender grace of carriage, delicate and feline. (p. 222)
Though the cat, and the man, are not the likeable characters, they are both necessary in the playout of their environments.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology