The Cougar and the Troll.

The Cougar sharpened her claws admiring Rudolpho cleaning her heartshaped swimming pool. She had put the pool in to enhance her lair after the divorce. "Leopards' never change their spots. Why couldn't I hear that back then?", she thought to herself. Leo was her first mate who ran astray, as cats can only do, with a panther named Sheba. Furious, the Cougar took the home, the business, hunting rights, some of his spots and all of his pride. The kids were older by then so it was of no surprise when they watched Mom and Dad split. It was inevitable from the fighting laid down in all of the years prior. Staying together for their sakes was really unnecessary, and seeing all the carnage and clawing, actually damaging. "Aaaaah, youth" she purred.

Rudolpho's white denim cutoffs couldn't have been a better frame for his ass she noted. The white tank top was a bit much, and she could live without the combat boots, but her ears cocked back at the sight of that rear end. Such a pool boy could only be found here in West Hollywood, CA. Candyland for boys that like boys and girls that loved them, WeHo is definitely a lot more for the Ho than We. Uniformed in Prada, Proud in June, the tribe in WeHo enjoyed the mutual admiration of self in surface. Mirror, martini, or Maserati, if there's a shiny surface that one's self image can be displayed in WeHo'rs were pleased. Superficial? Maybe. But it can be addicting all of that dazzling teeth and bright pretty things.

The Cougar bid farewell to Rudolpho and Rudolpho's ass when a voice was heard from the bushes. "He seems oblivious to your charms, you took no opportunity to pounce, may I ask if you find that as infuriating as mold on an azalea?" The voice from the dark was as bitter as day old espresso and sad as a weekend cold sore. "Who intrudes my lair?" Snarl. "I won't be bothered before I hunt tonite, so go away." She flashed her teeth in accomplishment towards the hedge when she heard silence. It must have been the Troll in the cave behind her home. The hedges were high around his place and along the sides and front stood a very tall and well appointed fence. The fence was grey wood, painted violet and blue and grey in artistic alternates. She had never met the Troll but had heard him scream at the youths that would hunt in front of his cave. Always a craggly voice that bemoaned a soul lost in time gone by. The place was dark and not inviting at all. So sad that he lived there all by himself and had given up on Life and Love. Here was the Cougar, recreating herself in the eyes of much younger mates, again and again.

She had never seen the Troll but the boyboy that groomed her in BevHills warned her of his bad magic. The boyboy knew of a shadow that trolled lover's lane with a flashlight, house parties with a cell phone dialing the police. He would crankcall 'help lines' to pass the time, and was rumored to be the one that had planted the carbomb on the AstroGlide float in the Pride Parade of 05. The device detondated but was immediately extinguished under a rush of the giant sized lubricant- filled centerpiece that the dancers were working like as stripper's pole. He had Martha Stewart taser for lost chihuahuas, poison birdseed in the feeders, and a penchant for bad magic. He was the ultimate buzzkill in the jungle, when it came for love. Boyboy had come from the midwest, readopted his proper name and changed the spelling of it to such a state that no one could read it proper on his Crane's calling card. He groomed the semi elite in town and didn't mind being known as boyboy, as long as he knew everyone else's happenings. His stories of Troll were numerous. He may have well been a macaw, part for his repetition, part for his plumage of crazy hair.

"Youth can't bring you happiness. All the whoring in the world won't bring back your Golden Days, why don't you accept this and lay down the pretenses of Joy." The Troll was back. The Cougar was enraged and was ready to strike. Never anger a huntress when she's preening in the sun. She might bite your head off leave you for dead on the cull du sac. If she's enjoying herself why bother her, you need fingers. She paused and admired the tenacity and lack of fear of her neighbor. She was actually intrigued for a meeting to size up what another road in Life looks like. "Your call seems earnest," Cougar spat, "if you won't let me relax, come and discuss this with me over a Pellegrino. I guarantee it will be cold and the discussion hot and we will learn from each other." The hedge shook a bit and from underneath it stepped the Troll.

He was a shrunken version of something grand she could sense. He wore the classics of the land, finery that was threadbare from over wear in the ages gone by. Ill fitting for his body reflected the demands of Time. He was hunched over with skeletal hands over a shillelagh brought back from some adventure in Ireland. His Ugg boots were filthy and feral almost. "Sooo three years ago," thought the Cougar. His sadness was humidity, and his rage distant thunder. His eyes had seen much, and were now full, to the point of sinking into his face. His pale skin was like marble in a cathedral. It shown brightly in the sun as the little creature beat a hasty march to the chaise lounge opposite the Cougar. With her tail she moved the sun umbrella over their perch as he bent to the mini Sub Zero to retrieve beverages. "You're not dead Troll, why act as if you were already taken out?"

"In your pack you can run as long as you can, hunt until your well into old age, it's not the same in my tribe. Trolls become trolls when the prey completely out runs you. You have to rely on trickery and cleverness and then it becomes no fun at all to hunt. The thrill leaves it. Do you really believe that all the young mates you feast upon here can restore your misspent youth? Trust me I hear all the howling that you make, I know how often you feast. You should well be sated. Why do you still hunt?"

The cougar groomed her pads of her paw. She looked the Troll in the eyes and said, "I hunt because I can. I hunt because it's what yoga winds me up for. It's very important to keep moving. I hunt because I know if I stop I will die. If by my own hand or some unseen circumstance. Be wary of hunting, and be wary of resting. One or the other will end your line, there is no grey." There was no grey because boyboy was an excellent colorist.

"But don't you tire? Don't you find all the preening and pretense annoying? I just find it incredibly silly." He sipped fizzy water, looking tired. "Sip that water and think on this. You can take your joys alone, or you can take them in company. The choice is yours. I for one respect solitude and what your cave means to you, but really stepping out is what fires the soul. It frees the mind. It lets you be complete. Maybe you just need some reminding of that." She cocked her head back and looked at him. He set his fizzy water down and asked what she meant. And with that she scooped up the Troll with amazing cougar grace and sat him between her paws. With a velvety, fine sandpaper tongue, groomed the face of the sad Troll. Her tongue moved away the dust from the hedge, the cruelty of youth, and the pain of aging. She thoroughly licked his face with the joy of child on an ice cream cone. The Cougar was renowned for the healing power of her tongue, even in WeHo. This keen act of compassion from this huntress awakened a spark in his heart. The alabaster skin now shown as a beige pink.

"Why would you do this for a Troll that's been nothing but mean for as long as he can remember?" he asked the Cougar. "Because,"she explained, "you weren't always this mean little troll, you had experiences once and probably a great life. I think you just need a little reminder, and some tenderness from a great wingwoman." She ripped through his ancient vestments and sent the Ugg boots over the trash can. She knocked him into heartshaped pool with her head and strode towards the poolhouse. The Troll splashed to the surface, coughing and sputtering, "What was that for?" The Cougar looked back from the doorway and said, "You stink of Drakkar Noir, and I wasn't having any eighties flashbacks that I couldn't control with pharmaceuticals. I'm going to fetch you something to wear from my trophies' collection and then you and I are going to hunt. Even if we don't kill, we're going to get you a new philosophy tonight. Don't get me wrong if we have a chance to get the philosopher too, we fucking will. She disappeared for a moment then brought him new clothes.

The Troll found his new friend impetuous, and rude. But what she said did make sense. A little push to re enter the world was unexpected charity. But if felt right. He felt a familiar door open in his head and he liked the light that came from within it. Light after so long in the dark would be strange, but then again it would be dark by the time they left so it really wasn't much of a trade off. He got dressed in Tom Ford; from suit to shoes to scent. She looked him up and down and smiled a grand cougar smile. "I'd even hunt you now. Sit and relax and finish your Pellegrino, I need to ready myself for the night. You enter the jungle tonight and I'm your guide. " She left him in her garden and smiled at her deed. We all needed a friend now and again. Even better if they are younger than yourself and are appreciative of your maturity. Or your tongue. Whatever they appreciate, friends are important. Tonight they would hunt and remind the world that it's important to live out loud. WeHo would never be the same, they'll see the flames in the Valley. They'll hear the stories out at the beach. Tonight The Cougar and The Troll will take to the streets. How unlikely a pair she purred. She hurried to get herself feline fabulous and as not to let her friend wait too long. She made herself ready to feast, it would be an epic night. The Cougar admired her self in the shiny surface and loved what she saw. She collected her friend and they set about on their new adventure. Here they come, be warned. They may even take the Jag it was a special evening.