Kitty opened her eyes. She was laying on Bigfoot, and he had his big fuzzy arms wrapped around her.

“Awake?” Bigfoot asked.

“I am,” Kitty said.

“I need to relight the fires. You were asleep. Didn’t want to wake you,” Bigfoot said. “But you can lay in this spot until it is warm again.” He raised up and put her in his spot. Then, he wrapped the straw and cloth around her.

Bigfoot walked over and added more wood to the first pile. Then, he lit it by rubbing two sticks together. Then, he moved to the next pile.

“How come you don’t have fleas?” Kitty asked.

Bigfoot looked at her. “Fleas?”

“Tiny biting insects that live in hair,” Kitty said.

Bigfoot shuddered. “Had those once. Not pleasant. Very itchy.”

“How’d you get rid of them?” Kitty asked.

“I had to take three baths a day for several days. Then, I remembered there was a leaf I could eat that would make them not bother me,” Bigfoot said. “I eat a couple of leaves a day. Don’t have problem with biting bugs.” He finished relighting the second fire. Then, walked over to the third.

Kitty glanced out the windows. “It’s still snowing.”

“It will probably snow for several days,” Bigfoot said. “It does this a couple times a year.” He lit the third fire then stood and motioned out the window. “Your camp is there.”

“I can’t see it,” Kitty said.

“It is buried under snow,” Bigfoot said. “Most of the bottom floor is too.”

“Is that why we’re up here?” Kitty asked.

“It is. I used to stay on the first floor, but it gets snow inside,” Bigfoot said. “Doesn’t matter how many fires you light down there. Second floor is better, but this floor is best.”

“Did the people ever live in these?” Kitty asked.

“Long time ago,” Bigfoot said. “But the children liked living in their own huts, so they moved out. Eventually, all that was left was the old ones. They eventually died.”

“How long after that did they all leave?” Kitty asked.

Bigfoot walked over and sat next to her on the pile of straw and cloth. He contemplated. “Not long after.”

“And they didn’t tell you where they were going?” Kitty asked.

“I looked,” Bigfoot said. “Never found them.”

“But isn’t your sense of smell better than mine?” Kitty asked.

“It is, but I think they went across the river,” Bigfoot said. “I followed their smell but lost it on the other side.”

“And no one ever came back to tell you?”

“A few would come back for fertility,” Bigfoot said. “But they would not tell me where they went. Said the new ones did not believe in me. I would not have been welcome, so I stopped looking.”

“How old are you?” Kitty asked.

“I am not sure.” Bigfoot thought a moment. “Four hundred and fifty-two seasons, give or take twenty.”

Kitty did some mental math. “A hundred and thirteen years old? That’s unbelievable.”

“What is your age?” Bigfoot asked.

“Thirty-one,” Kitty said. “Or 124 seasons.”

“Four seasons is one of your years?” Bigfoot asked.

“Yes,” Kitty said.

“How long do you live?” Bigfoot asked.

“About a hundred and ten, but we don’t look as good as you. I thought you were maybe a little older than me, like by maybe twenty seasons.”

Bigfoot chuckled. “Bigfoots live to be...” He did some mental math. “Twelve hundred seasons or three hundred of your years.”

“How old was the oldest bigfoot?” Kitty asked.

“My father was two hundred when I was born. I think he is still alive somewhere. He would be the oldest I think.”

“Not around here?” Kitty asked.

“No. Different forest. Many days away,” Bigfoot said.

“So, you’re not the only one,” Kitty said.

“I am not, but there are not very many of us,” Bigfoot said. “We don’t have cubs very often. Most are human. We have your… What is the word?”

“DNA? Genes?” Kitty asked.

“Genes,” Bigfoot said. “Sorry. I am not educated. I only remember the stories from the children that came back to visit. The humans we would send to your world. The cubs we would keep, but it is very rare to have a cub.”

“And I just had one,” Kitty said.

“Extremely rare for a Bigfoot and a human to have a cub,” Bigfoot said. “Only thing I can think is that there is a Bigfoot in your line.”

“We have never lived in the forest,” Kitty said.

“Some bigfoots hide among you, especially if they have less hair than me,” Bigfoot said. “I am very hairy.” He paused. “Was your father or grandfather very hairy?”

“My grandfather did have a lot of hair.” Kitty slid out of the pile. “Let me see if I have a picture.” She dug through her bag. “Found one. It’s not very good, but if I go on a trip, I bring my pictures.” She walked over and showed bigfoot the old Polaroid.

Bigfoot took it and looked at it. He laughed. “Bigfoot.” He pointed.

“My grandfather? He died when he was sixty,” Kitty said.

“He’s older than your sixty in this picture,” Bigfoot said. “Had to be over two hundred.”

Kitty gasped.

“When did he die?”

“About ten years ago. Grandma said it was a car crash,” Kitty said. “That picture was taken fifty years ago.”

“Did your grandma stay after he died?” Bigfoot asked.

“No, she moved to the ocean,” Kitty said.

“Still alive?” he asked.

“She’s… Oh hell. She’s over a hundred.”

Bigfoot chuckled. “Grandpa not dead. I would bet my hair on it.”

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