Bonk, Bonk Bonk on the windowsill at 6AM on a Saturday sometime in the winter in Southern Cal. 

It’s me GB he says, Let me in.

There is no surf says the Wracks, I checked the lookout last night.

I need a shotgun for a run up to SB with precious cargo.  There may be something coming in at Hammonds.   Are you out or are you in?

I am in says the Wracks, I will let you in the kitchen.

Meet you there says GB

I had a late dinner at work last night says GB.  Just make me some toast with butter and a cup of your delicious Yuban Coffee.

OK says the Wracks

Hammonds is a magical place says GB, kind of like the Bu.  It is the only break in SB that catches a southwest swell.  A wave rider can surf it all year long.   Rarely, when it gets really big on a west swell the reef works and a rider can get Sunset Beach Hawaii into a point in CA. Besides I have business up there today with the boys and I need a second to support me in case of a fail.   It will be the same as last time.  I have finished breakfast and my cup of coffee, let’s go.  Don’t forget to bring a couple of Pall Mall golds for the ride.

The Wracks loads his board in a board bag in between the seats of the General Motors econocar done in dark green.  He throws in his wetsuit and robey and they start off.

What’s all that white powder on the console of your car asks the Wracks?

Why don’t you wet your finger and taste it suggests GB

What is it says the Wracks, it doesn’t have any taste. 

It is the powder from the bottom of a bag of one hundred hits of purple dome LSD that I picked up last night.

Am I going to go on an LSD trip asks the wracks

Probably not because you didn’t get enough of it, If you want more it is on the dash.

How do you drive on LSD asks the Wracks.

Very cautiously and not as fast as I am used to.

On the one and over the hill to the five they go and C Street is about three feet.

We are almost there says GB.  Watch for the big freeway sign that says “Winterland” and that is where we turn off.

The big sign appears and the two take the off-ramp to a side street bordered by huge evergreens that must be at least one hundred years old.  A wooden gate station comes into view and the officer at the station waves to GB and lets them in the Gate.  In winterland, huge mansions rise out of a soggy meadow covered with green lichen.  The houses are two, some three story high, fashioned of wood in a gothic architecture and set in large lots with car ports instead of Garages.  Cadillacs and an occasional Rolls Royce populate the scenery, and sometimes a four wheel drive land buster.  GB pulls up to one of the houses and they all look similar with years of ivy and Ivy League trailing from the trellises and the smell of wet basement flora overwhelms the senses.  In one of the driveways, GB honks twice and signals out his driver compartment and a young man with brown hair and casual denims appears from one of the houses.

Wracks, Go in the trunk and get the briefcase underneath the wetsuits while I sit here in the car.

OK says the Wracks and he lifts up the hatchback and unearths a black leather briefcase with gold metal trim.

Bring it to me says GB

Kip comes to the side of the car and says, Let me see them first.

GB opens up the briefcase and inside set in red velour are five golden chips about the size of a matchbook.  Silicon wafers etched in pure gold lacing

Yeah, that is them says Kip. I am satisfied.   Your account will be credited.

See you later he says, the point is not that good today there is a south wind and he waves and disappears back inside the house.

We are done says GB.  It’s not worth surfing, let’s get home

What are those gold things says the Wracks.

They are computer chips for a mainframe system says GB.  State of the art.  They use them to plot the trajectories of intercontinental ballistic missiles at NORAD. They are worth at least fifty thousand dollars apiece.

How did you get them asks the Wracks

It is just business, says GB just Business. Let’s get cracking says GB.  We can be home before lunch

The drive south is uneventful and the wind in Ventura and SB picks up around eleven o’clock and blows out of the west till the glass off at five.  Up Moonrise Boulevard and the church of all Religions and the Wracks is back in his nest in the enclave of the west-most subdivision.

Thanks for driving along says GB.  I am going to work now. See you next swell

So long says the Wracks and the wooden gate are worn by the teeth of his little silky terrier and he is greeted by the dog and he enters the house through the back.  It is Saturday and his parents are gone and he says hi to his grandmother, sits down and has a cigarette and another cup of coffee. The skies are blue and almost cloudless and the sun sends warm rays in through the family room window. He gets his text books and turns on the reading lamp and begins to read.

This is long ago before the computer became the Time Magazine man of the year and computer chips were available to all and everyone connects on the internet and the big information superhighway dominates the United States. There are a lot more swells to be had and the Wracks has a ride to all of them wherever they are in Southern California. Now in NorCal, the Wracks sees that a surfer always has waves to ride somewhere in the golden state anytime if they are willing to travel.   It seems the Wracks likes to go for a ride.  Hawaii is a very windy place.

On the Wall at Surfrider Beach, emblazoned in indelible spray paint are the words, “The Cat Lives,” and “Mik is the Cat.”  Over forty years pass and the words never wash off, wear down or go away.   The words seem to endure beyond the legend and the legacy of probably the most complete wave rider ever to surf in Southern California.  Who is the cat and what the cat is live as a story in it.  Is the cat a highly intelligent criminal?   The answer may be yes but a person can only be decreed a criminal if they are caught and sentenced by due process of the law.  Mik is above the law.  Mik is real and an ancestor of a very important and prominent California family who wish to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to return some day to the grounds which he loves more than anything else.  The stomping grounds of the legend, “The Cat,” exist as the place known as Surfrider Beach or to the local people as “The Bu.”  They say Mik retired to Cardiff Beach and had to content himself to riding Swami’s point at thirty feet while assuming the role as a certified public accountant.  The question remains, is Mik a faculty member at a state University professional school?   What has become of Mik? Where has Mik gone?  Did Mik die of pancreatic cancer away from his beloved Bu?   Wracks believes Mik is alive and has seen him somewhere out of the corner of his eye.  Wracks does not surf anymore but cherishes the memories of being one of the special people in a group who were allowed by Mik to ride the waves at Surfrider beach in all their majesty.  Wracks does not regret a minute of wasting time at Surfrider beach or sitting out in the water and playing with the Macrocystis kelp and waiting for a big set at the shift.  When the Bu is big, local riders sit at the outer reef and ride a wave to the pier and past the pier if they are skilled and brave enough. 

Wracks mother makes him a brown bag lunch of a cheese and jelly sandwich with an apple.  Wracks mother drives wracks to surfrider beach with a Jacobs 9 feet six-inch board with a couple of his friends and leaves him there all day.  Wracks mother then waves goodbye and does more important things then raising her child while being an oncologist at the big U.  Wracks mother tests smart and cannot content herself with the role of female and mother.   Wracks sits at the Malibu wall with his board and friends and watches Mik ride waves.  Mik rides waves expertly, never falls off and rides them all the way to the beach, disembarks and walks back up to the point to paddle out and begin again.  Mik beats up anyone who rides on a larger set wave in front of him. Mik has catlike reflexes.   Mik beats up someone almost every day.  Mik is king and few become brave enough to challenge his reign unless they are hopped up on some kind of euphoric drug.  They all ultimately stumble away with a bloodied face, dragging their boards behind them.  The Malibu masochist got his name because he consistently took off on a wave in front of Mik and Mik would pummel his body with blows.  The Malibu masochist never could learn.   The Malibu masochist is a Karate and judo expert and can never figure out how Mik beats him up every time.  This Japanese man simply goes by the title, “The Masochist.”   The masochist eventually moves away to greener pastures.  Lance Carson got his nickname “no pants lance” because he rode a set wave in front of Mik and Mik required him to spend the day naked on the beach or he would beat him to a pulp.  Lance became a legend in himself and the basis of National Lampoon Christmas vacation movies; however, this is another essay.  Wracks paddles out to the point at surfrider beach, and takes off in front of Mik in order to meet him.  Mik exits the wave and looks at the little kid with gall to take off in front of him.  Mik looks again and walks back up the point.   Wracks is the only person on the planet who took off in front of Mik and did not get his face punched.  This makes wracks royalty of a sort in a magical place with magical waves in a tumultuous time when the darkness starts to take hold.  Mik is the legend at the Bu and will someday return to reclaim his throne and empire.  Mik lives or did live in a strategic location.  Maybe his family rents out the house nowadays, Maybe Mik keeps it vacant with slip covers over the sofas.  Maybe Mik lives in the huge mansion on the hill overlooking Surfrider Beach.  The house at the point has a large deck and looks north and south.  The house on the point belongs to Mik.   The house on the point gives direct vision of the Indicator at third point and the reef at the Colony.   The house on the point still exists but who occupies the house is another mystery. 

The colony evidences as a group of houses on a private beach with a private entrance to a private clique on the northern edge of Surfrider Beach.    The colony has a rock reef that forms a wave similar to the Banzai pipeline on Oahu.  The colony reef produced the best pipeline surfers of the twentieth century, both of which have won at least two Pipeline master contests.  The Malibu colony reef breaks the biggest on a huge southwest swell and at low tide breaks better then the Banzai Pipeline although not as big as second reef pipe.   Wracks does not belong to the elite and does not have access to the colony or the pipeline reef.   The colony reef can only be watched from the lookout hill now holding a huge mansion with ramparts and looking glass.   Mik does not appear at surfrider beach anymore.  Mik left when the darkness started to prevail.   Wracks hopes Mik or one of his sons will return and reclaim the legend and title. 

We return to the question.  “Who is the Cat.?”  “What is the cat?”  “Where is the cat?”   The answer becomes the fact that Mik is a legendary and famous figure who serves as a role model or benchmark for other once removed.  A wrack believes Mik still lives.  Wracks hopes Mik still lives to ensure his progeny form roots, grow and control the substance of his fame.  Wracks also hopes that good will prevail and that someday they will invent a tree that grows money.  Wracks dreams and has imagined lots of things but the memories of youth that infiltrate conscious with every breath shall be born and grow to something feasible and concrete some day, some way, somehow.  Time passes, and all things pass and we mere mortals play our games and are blessed by the tears of Allah.