I didn’t have any problem when the Sasquatch wandered out of the woods and down the hill from behind my house, but when it headed for my patch of kale in the garden that has fed me all winter, it was too much.
“See here!” I shouted as I stormed out the door, “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Sasquatch looked me up and down and then sniffed. Loudly.
“Just having a little bit of nourishment from this modest patch.” Feminine voice, but her shape gave me no clues–she was covered in shaggy brown hair from head to foot, and towered over me.
“So who ARE you?”
“I’m a cryptid.” She spit the words at me.
“Cryptid? What are you talking about?”
“A cryptid! Don’t you read? Good grief–I can’t believe you humans don’t keep up with what’s happening in government! Your crazy state legislature is considering making me Washington State’s official cryptid. Can you believe it?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so she continued, “You do know what a cryptid is, don’t you?” I shook my head.
“Oh honestly! Mythical creatures! Creatures that haven’t yet been proven to exist! Me! They’re calling me a cryptid! They’re putting me in the same category as that silly Loch Ness Monster! Look it up if you don’t believe it. Wikipedia has a long list of cryptids and I’m on it. Even my cousin Yeti is on it. What a farce!”
She had continued pulling off leaves and munching as she ranted, but now she paused and lowered her voice, “Um, might you have a nice bottle of Chardonnay to accompany these lovely greens?”
I shook my head. No way was I giving alcohol to a Sasquatch.
“So are there a lot of you cryptids around?”
“I am NOT a cryptid–here, pinch me–I’m real!” No way was I going to pinch her, either.
“You mean the real unreal cryptids, right? There’s the Hakawai from New Zealand, a mythical bird that people have heard but never seen. And the Kaijin from Japan–a sea monster most frightening. You know about Nessie, of course. But how about the Beast of Bladenboro from North Carolina? An ugly vampire, a cat-like monster. You don’t want to cross paths with that one! And oh, so many others. But I do not belong in that club, and I do so hope the legislature straightens out this gross misconception.”
She gave me a long look. “Hmmm….might you help me? It wouldn’t be so difficult. You could start by calling your senators and representatives. Maybe you could write a letter to the governor? I know–send a postcard to the president and ask him to give these jokers the facts! Have you friends? Perhaps a march–yes, a march would be excellent! That’s a delightful idea!” Her eyes glowed as she looked off into the distance.
As she pondered that idea, I stepped back and scooted into the house. I figured she wouldn’t venture any closer. The letters and phone calls? I suppose I could contact my senator and let her know that I saw a very real Sasquatch in my garden. A march? I knew some people with marching experience. I suppose I could contact a few friends and get something started. If it doesn’t work out, you might see someone on the street corner with a sign, SASQUATCHES ARE REAL. It’s me.