Walter walked through the door from the garage, brushing pine needles and rain out of his dense fur before he could track a mess all over the floors. Even with excessive grooming, his winter coat puffed him up to almost twice his size, hiding his lean tanuki build beneath a cloud of dusty brown fur. His fur filled his t-shirt like an over-stuffed pillow, bursting out from the collar and sleeves like he was about to explode.

He lived alone high in Portland’s West Hills overlooking the city below. The winter had been mild, and now at the tail end of the season, the air was filled with a constant drizzly mist that wasn’t quite rain, but was too wet to be anything else. He quickly ran his paws through the fur on his exposed arms to shake loose as much as he could while he kicked off his shoes, letting them tumble across the floor and lay where they fell. Only once he was satisfied that he was dry and wouldn’t track mud all through the house, Walter walked across the empty, unfurnished room toward the iron spiral staircase that led upstairs. At the top of the stairs, Walter plugged his phone into the stereo dock so it could charge, and tossed his keys onto the dining room table, on top of a pile of bills he hadn’t opened, and jackets that never got worn.

The house was entirely too big for one person. Downstairs was almost a complete apartment on its own, with an open living area, bedroom, and full bath. There was a door leading out from the downstairs living room to the front yard, which Walter had never opened, and had never felt a particular need to, mostly owing to the giant prickly pear that had taken over from whatever the house’s previous owners were trying to do with the landscaping. Before he moved in, Walter had briefly considered having the stupid cactus removed, but it kept people from using the downstairs door. So it stayed.

Upstairs, there were two more bedrooms. His, which had remained largely untouched, had enormous windows which looked over the hills and the city. At least they would have, had there not been heavy blankets nailed to the wall to black out the bedroom as much as possible. He had his small bed, messed and unmade shoved against the far wall, and a single dresser topped with the assorted trinkets and pills that got piled up and ignored. Aside from a Louisville Slugger resting against the wall near the door, Walter had not put any further energy into the room. The second bedroom, which Walter had turned into his home office, had also borne the brunt of the previous owner’s desires. It had lost its more typical door, and gained a sliding barn door in its place. It had a glass sliding door and giant windows that looked out over the narrow strip of property to the side of the house. His was one of the few West Hills properties to have a pool, leading Walter to suspect that the lunatic previous owner might have been some kind of crocodile or fish.

His office was the only room in the entire house that bore any hallmark of being used. Walter didn’t own much, outside of an enormous collection of notes and files from work that he refused to throw out. He kept neatly stacked in boxes and cabinets, alongside shelves full of small trinkets he’d collected over the years, like trophies from a hunt. He had no photographs on any of the walls or surfaces, though his desk was cluttered with the tools of his trade. A desktop computer shared space with a laptop and the latest iPad release and several old phones. Multiple cameras sat neatly arranged on one side of his desk in a mix of handicams, point and shoots, and several large dSLRs.

The front room more resembled his bedroom again. Walter had a stereo that was designed to appear antique, but with all the necessary ports and trappings to interface with modern gadgets. On the shelf below, he had a substantial vinyl collection. Beyond that, he owned little else. A dining table he never used. A black leather sofa and matching recliner, and the sort of glass and steel coffee table he had been assured was fashionable. He had nothing hung up on the slate-grey walls, save the speakers from a 9.1 surround system that attached to his stereo. He could have attached the system to his television hung above the corner fireplace as well, but in the end, he had decided it was entirely too much work when the only thing he ever watched was various news channels. He kept no rugs on the chestnut-carpeted floors, and sky lights in the high, vaulted ceiling were kept permanently closed with the shades drawn. All the damn things ever seemed to do was let all the heat escape during the long winters, and focus the full force of the sun’s energy straight onto his head in the summer. And when they weren’t doing that, they constantly leaked from all the decaying leaves and pine needles eating away at the seal.

There had been a time when Walter had considered nailing blankets over the floor-to-ceiling windows in the front room, but with the high, vaulted ceilings and a sky that was cloudy more often than not, blocking off the natural light would have required extra effort in buying and plugging in lamps. His window didn’t face any of the neighbors anyway. Instead, his property gave him a view of the entire Willamette valley below, with the city stretching off to the east and Mt Hood looming far on the horizon, all framed neatly between two giant Douglas firs on the corners of his property. But in the haze and gloom of early February, the mountain was hidden in the clouds and mist, completely invisible from the city.