The Buster Incident Koda Christensen   © Copyright 2025 by Koda Christensen

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

“What is that?” Louis asks, pointing to a short, shadowed creature walking towards us. I squint from the swingset.

“What the hell?” The creature is short and stout. It’s—

“A cat!” Alison cheers, bounding up to it.

“Do you think it’s a stray?” Louis asks.

“It has a collar…” Delilah answers, sitting on the swing next to me. As the cat walks in front of us, I lean in to pet it. I miss. Within a blink, Alison has scooped it up in her arms.

“His name is ‘Buster’.” She fiddles with its metal tags, getting a closer look. “Where’s this address?” Louis goes over to read it, then he plugs the address into Google Maps.

“It lives in a house behind the park,” Louis says. Buster squirms and Alison sets it down. I try to pet it again as it walks by.

“I know we only planned to hang out at the park, but it would be fun to go for a walk around the lake,” I suggest. The night hangs thick in the sky, but the moon shines through to light the way.

“Sounds fun,” Louis replies. We all gather our things, and then say our farewells to Buster. We leave the park and proceed down the sidewalk.

“Guys, look,” Alison says. We turn. “Buster is following us.” True to her word, this stranger of grey and white trails behind us. When someone drags behind, the cat drags furthur, ensuring we’re all there. We walk slower for Buster.

We enter a dirt path that curves around the bay. Now there are no more streetlights, and the trees surrounding us are just silhouettes. The moon and our phones’ flashlights help us see our next step.

Soon the path opens up to a rocky beach. The trees become shrubs and the lake pools into view. We make our way along a slimmer path at the top of the beach, and Buster darts in and out of the tall grass. The path curves around a tall landmark on a hill.

“What is that?” Delilah asks, pointing to the landmark.

“Let’s go see.”

We all ascend the hill, and at the top, there is a huge signpost. Cross-hatching signs overlap and point in various directions, revealing places tens of thousands of metres away. We circle around the pole, reading its tall tales of unknown locations. In this moment of silent fascination, I feel a deep connection to my new friends.

“Hey, where’d Buster go?” Alison asks. After a bit of searching, Alison calls from below the short slope.

“He’s down here!” She sticks her hands in the shrubs. “He’s got something!”

“Like an animal?” I ask, hurrying down the hill to assist.

“Yeah, I think he got a baby bird!” She shoos the cat away, but he circles back to find his prey. “Kieran, take him away!” Alison picks Buster up and hands him to me. I’m holding him under the armpits like a wiggling baby. He’s really soft. I run back up the hill.

“You’re a strange cat, Buster. I want to consider you a friend, but murder is not cool.”

Buster wiggles harder in response.

We spend a while searching for the baby bird, but to no avail. Buster looks apologetic.

“I think we should start heading back,” I suggest. “Delilah and Alison need to catch the bus before they stop running.” They agree, and it’s up to me to lead them back. I’ve walked these trails many times before, and I’ve biked them even more.

Out of nowhere, something slams against the ground. When I turn around, Delilah is sprawled out on the dirt. Their 50 pound backpack either cushioned their fall or broke their back.

Alison is laughing maniacally.

“What happened?” I hold out a hand for Delilah, pulling them to their feet. Their mouth is stuck between a smile and a frown, forming a fixed line on their face. They dust themselves off.

“I didn’t think you would actually fall,” Alison laughs out. It turns out she tripped them. The thirst for revenge burns in Delilah’s eyes and I crack a smile.

While we walk, Alison and Delilah keep bumping into each other like siblings.

“Kieran, how much longer ‘til we’re back?” one of the siblings asks.

“About 20 minutes.” Maybe longer, since we keep stopping for Buster to catch up.

“How are we going to leave him? We can’t take him to residence with us,” Louis says. The thought of having to abandon Buster surprises me with hurt.

“I guess we’ll run away really fast? I don’t want to leave him. He’s one of the wanderers now.” Wanders is the term for our friend group. Buster has earned his way in, and now we’re united through being lost and found. They all agree to a plan that has to happen.

We leave the path, returning to the concrete sidewalk. We become illuminated in artificial light, outlined in a yellowish glow. We made it around the lake. We made a new friend.

Before this moment passes, I lift my phone. While positioned with all five of us in frame, I take a photo of the Buster incident.

We’re getting close to the park now, and close to where Buster lives.

“Ready?” I ask, ready to run. “On three. One, two… Three!”

We all race down the concrete sidewalk, trying to outrun Buster. When I turn around, I see Buster running too— right into his backyard. We wave him goodbye, laughing.

I’m not a hugger, but it feels nice to hug my friends goodbye tonight.

The next day, Alison sends Buster’s facebook page in the Wanderers group chat. It turns out our new friend is famous.

*****

Koda Christensen is a 20-year old writer and poet currently studying at Humber College for creative and professional writing. He has previously published some pieces with See You Next Tuesday Media and The Humber Literary Review.