San Antonio's Intergalactic Visitors

Looking at this photograph, it may take a moment for you to notice anything out of the ordinary, but it is there. This is an ordinary photograph taken by myself on Wednesday the 30th of January, 2019 using my trusty Samsung PL65 digital camera. Excepting that the flash hasn't worked for the last couple of years, the camera is in no way faulty, and the above photograph features no model work or related trickery. Nor was Photoshop used to edit the image.

I was on my daily twenty mile bike ride along San Antonio's Tobin Trail. I had just passed beneath the bridges of both the railway line and Wetmore Road, and I was heading up the hill which is a supposedly natural feature of that stretch of the trail when I noticed an object nestled in the grass. The path upon which I rode followed a winding course, and so I stopped at the outermost point of the curve, which was also the point closest to the object. Looking north I saw what appeared to be a construction resembling a pipe projecting upwards from the grass. I have been riding the Tobin Trail for nearly eight years and am therefore familiar with the landscape, and yet this feature was new to me. I estimate that the construction would have been about thirty feet from where I stood. I did not approach the construction, which appeared artificial in nature, for to do so would have meant leaving my bicycle unguarded, but I was able to take a number of photographs. Let's have a closer look.

There is no doubt in my mind that the photograph shows an artificial construction. It is not a tree stump, and as I have already stated, this is a genuine photograph and not something produced through use of Photoshop or similar.

This section of the Tobin Trail comprises a surfaced path leading up to the top of the hill and then down on the other side, forming what would be a horseshoe shape if seen from above. If we were to draw a line between the two tips of the horseshoe, we have a rough dirt path running along the base of the hill, as can be seen in the first photograph. Viewed from above, the area around the mysterious pipe is laid out like so:

 

It has been suggested to me that the construction may simply be a certain type of water bottle, perhaps one left behind by a person - either a walker or a cyclist - who opted to take a short cut to the further part of the trail. While this is a nice idea, not only can neither any cyclist nor any walker be seen in my photograph, but I do not recall having seen any such person taking this proposed short cut in a great many weeks. Of course, whilst the object may well be a water bottle left behind by this hypothetical individual, it may equally well be something which fell out of Doctor Who's TARDIS as he flew over on his way to fight the Daleks, but I would rather avoid such flights of fancy as I attempt to deduce the facts of this mystery.

This is a water bottle of the kind proposed by our sceptical friend, as seen on the Amazon website. Unfortunately, as you can see, it is quite different to the construction shown in the second photograph, so we might do better to concentrate on the main issue rather than waste our time with random speculation.

Working on the assumption of the construction being something akin to a chimney or perhaps an exhaust pipe, it seems likely that it must be the single visible extension of a subterranean complex, perhaps housing spacecraft from another world, providing rest and recreation for the alien pilots after their long voyage from the stars. Many researchers have noticed a correlation between UFO sightings and airports or air bases, and it can surely be no coincidence that the telltale exhaust pipe is situated at less than the distance of one mile from San Antonio airport. Indeed, I distinctly recall having seen signs instructing members of the public that in making use of the Tobin Trail, they are upon land which is the property of the aviation authority.

The location of the exhaust pipe is indicated by the numeral (1) on the first map, and the same is a detail of this second larger map denoted by the square. The airport runway is to be seen on the left-hand side of the map.

Naturally, I would not wish to take the supposed correlation between UFO sightings and airports or air bases for granted just because what seems to be a subterranean UFO base just happens to be situated near an airport; so it was fortuitous indeed that I was able to witness evidence of the same with my own eyes and also to record it on camera. I was stood at the point indicated by the numeral (3) on the first map when I noticed a mysterious object rising up from the direction of the airport. It was twenty-three minutes past one in the afternoon, Friday the 1st of February, 2019. The sky was overcast and the object moved through the air from west to north-east. The electricity pylon seen on the left of this photograph is the one which is visible in the first photograph. As before, I should stress that this is a genuine photograph and has not been subject to manipulation or enhancement using Photoshop.

As can be seen in the blown up image which follows, the object initially appeared as a sort of cone shape, tipped to one side (most likely simply due to how it was flying) and mounted upon a longer, cigar-shaped base. There seems to be something projecting from the left of the cone, perhaps an aerial, or perhaps even one of the extraterrestrial passengers who has decided to take a look out of the window at this mysterious world some of us like to call Earth!

By the time I was able to take a second photograph, the craft was passing much closer to my vantage point, affording me a better shot, but unfortunately by this point it had already taken on a familiar form resembling that of a light aircraft of terrestrial design - as seen in the photograph below. If unusual, this transformation has been noted as a common type of camouflage adopted by our interplanetary visitors in recent years, and for me it was sufficient proof that I was onto something. Could this be a craft which had only recently taken off from the underground saucer base I had discovered? Was this what I had just seen with my own eyes?

It seems incredible that these beings should have allowed me to witness their activity in this way, and to have allowed me to discover the facts of their existence in the first place; but then perhaps my discovery had been an unintentional one.

I have been cycling the Tobin Trail since 2011, and up until a year or so ago, as I reached the point designated by the numeral (2) on the first map, I usually alighted, pausing my journey so that I might urinate. The point indicated is on the top of the hill in such a position as to allow me to see others approaching from a great distance, whilst being hidden from view by motorists on both Wurzbach Parkway and Wetmore Road by the curvature of the hill (as can be seen from the second map). Therefore, feeling myself blessed with sufficient privacy, I habitually urinated at this point on a daily basis; until recently when I learned that technically this constitutes indecent exposure under United States law, and if successfully convicted of that charge, I would find myself obliged by law to inform all my neighbours of my status as a registered sex offender! I therefore now suspect that the subterraneans were attempting to warn me off or to put me out of the picture by somehow inducing my need to urinate at that specific location, hoping I would then be discovered and prosecuted. Indeed, I already mentioned having seen signs instructing members of the public that in making use of the Tobin Trail, they are upon land which is the property of the aviation authority. It is curious that I am no longer able to find any of these signs anywhere along the Tobin Trail, almost as though they have been removed by someone, or perhaps something! Without such warnings, an innocent walker or cyclist might commit trespass and find themselves inconveniently detained by legal authorities; or perhaps I should say conveniently detained for I'm sure it would prove quite convenient for person, persons, or perhaps even beings who would prefer their activities to remain undetected.

Having shed some light on the mysteries of the land on the western side of San Antonio airport, and the mysterious non-human creatures which shelter beneath it in their technological hideout, we are left only with the question of why now? My own hunch is that we find ourselves presently entering a crucial stage of human history, now that we have an innovative president pushing a bold new type of politics which has already given us the promise of our own Star Trek style Space Force, and so it is only natural that beings from other realms, and even other times, should wish to study this episode of human history. With this thought in mind, I direct readers to the point indicated by the numeral (4) on the second map. This pointer indicates the location of an artificial shelter constructed so as to protect those using the Tobin Trail from chips of rock which may be dislodged as trains pass by on the overhead railway line. It can hardly be a coincidence that this same shelter has been decorated with several stickers promoting the president's forthcoming campaign for re-election in the year 2020; although given all which we now know of this mystery, it wouldn't surprise me if these stickers had actually been bought back from the future after he has already won!

Sceptics will doubtless raise the same sort of objections they always raise, namely that I have been mistaken and what I saw was actually the planet Venus, or they will claim that I have invented most of this story, then tried to support my invention using trick photographs cleverly forged by means of Photoshop. Yet I have the proof, for my photographs, those which I have shared here, are quite genuine and have not been artificially made on Photoshop; and if this is all a fantasy, then what induced me to urinate at the top of the hill nearly every day, year after year; and what is the true nature of the mysterious shape-changing craft I saw that day? I would ask these questions of my critics, but I know that they would be greeted only with silence.

What more proof do I need than that the beings themselves have attempted to curtail my investigations. On Friday the 1st of February, 2019, just after my encounter with the alien craft, I was able to take this photograph.

Compare this with the second photograph and you will see that the pipe, the chimney, the exhaust system or whatever it may be, is of articulated construction and has now been laid flat in the grass so as to conceal it from further scrutiny. They knew that I had detected them, and that their secret presence on our world was no longer quite such a secret. Why else would they have gone to such trouble to elude detection?

If you can think of a reason, I'd sure like to hear it.

Cats' Breakfast

It was my fault - my idea, so I only have myself to blame. I don't recall how many cats we had at the time, but it was a good few less than we have now. They'd been living on dry food because that was how Bess had done it since before we were married. I'd raised an eyebrow, vaguely recalling something about cats fed on dry food alone having medical problems, possibly something to do with a brand inanely named Cupboard Love; but it turned out that I was remembering something from back in the eighties. Dry cat food had come a long way since then, so it turned out; plus there was the advantage of being able to fill a cat feeder and it being good for a couple of days, with cats eating just when they felt like it.

Yet something about this system felt wrong, and it was hard to ignore the detail of how excited the cats would get when I bought them the occasional tin of food as a treat.

'I'm going to start giving them a regular breakfast,' I announced one day. 'Same time every morning. I don't mind getting up to do it.'

My logic was that firstly it would be fun for the cats, giving them something to look forward to; and if they'd been outside during the night, it would provide an additional inducement to come home, hopefully reducing the occurrence of anyone vanishing for a couple of days at a time. Also, the more varied diet would probably be good for them, and we'd save on bags of dried food.

So now it's a regular thing, part of my routine; and I like routine because it means you get things done without having to think about them, freeing up the day for more important stuff.

I wake at any time between six and seven, rarely later. If it's summer, it will be light. If it's winter, it will be getting light. If any of the cats stayed in during the night, usually they'll be waiting outside the bedroom door, or Jello will already have forced the bedroom door open. Only Jello and Kirby seem to have this ability, although to be fair the locking mechanism of the bedroom door is crap, so all it really requires is a good, hard push.

I get up, throw on a robe, take a leak and then enter the front room. Occasionally Fluffy will have either produced a hairball or else laid an egg during the night, so I usually deal with that before anything else, if necessary. Fluffy isn't keen on the litter tray, despite that it's kept clean, and all the other useless advice you'll find on the internet when Googling why does my cat keeping taking a dump on the rug? Online wisdom suggests that he poos in protest, but none of us can work out what might have prompted him to express his reservations in this way. He has a pretty easy life, all things considered. I suspect he simply dislikes the litter tray and would otherwise prefer to use the facilities outside.

So I enter the front room, and if there's no damage control to be undertaken, I throw open the front door. This means Fluffy can go and take a dump in a bush if he needs to, and Snowy is usually sat on the garden path awaiting breakfast. Where once I'd step outside and call out their names, now I simply leave the door open and let Grace, Holly, and occasionally Kirby arrive in their own time, not least because Grace has usually found her way up onto the roof during the night and sometimes needs a bit longer.

I go to the kitchen and arrange seven metal bowls on the counter, then open the back door and let Nibbler in, and sometimes Jello if he's been outside during the night. By this point I usually have the full complement of seven cats marching around the front room or in and out of the kitchen, and the meowing can be deafening. Snowy is always right up on the counter top, quite happy to be fed directly from the tin. I've tried to find some way around this, so as to enable me to at least open tins in peace, but there isn't one, so Snowy gets first dibs - an entire five ounce can to herself because she has twice the appetite of everyone else.

It's probably a good thing in certain respects. She went missing earlier in the year, and we found her twelve weeks later trapped in the garage of a neighbouring house which had been unoccupied for some time. She'd somehow survived three months in isolation without regular food and water. She was the weight of a newspaper when I picked her up, which was kind of horrifying, but has nevertheless since fully recovered. We assume she must have caught mice or cockroaches or something, but she probably had a bit of stored fat on her side too.

Once I've shaken the hockey puck of food into Snowy's bowl, I put the tin down on the kitchen floor. It gives Jello something to think about and keeps him from joining Snowy on the counter top whilst I fill the other bowls. It's all a bit like juggling, but by this point I can do it in my sleep.

Fluffy, Nibbler, Grace, Holly, and Jello each get the contents of a three ounce can. I can usually shake these out, then convey the five bowls to different parts of the front room in a single trip, which at last silences the chorus.

This leaves just Kirby, who gets Princess food because she's weird and highly strung. She'll eat what the rest are eating, and have no qualms about finishing off abandoned bowls, but for some reason you have to start her off on Princess food, which is a fancier, marginally more expensive version of what everyone else is eating and comes in a sachet. It would be annoying, but I'm used to it.

Kirby came to us as a kitten which some friend of my wife had rescued from an unpleasant neighbour. The unpleasant neighbour had taken three tiny kittens from a feral cat, declared them guilty of having been born in her yard, and then left them to die in a metal bin with the lid on beneath the scorching Texas sun, because that's the sort of thing unpleasant neighbours do. Anna heard the cries, rescued the kittens, and then found it in herself to not drive her car back and forth over the head of the unpleasant neighbour, which is what I would have done under the circumstances. Anyway, the point is that Kirby had a seriously rough start, and then suddenly she was our cat and I was her Daddy; and I'm still Daddy all these years later. She follows me around the house. She sits and watches me, waiting to see what I will do. When I look around, usually Kirby is there. At times it drives me nuts, but there's not much point getting pissy about it, given that she's a cat; and I suppose I should be flattered.

I fill Kirby's bowl, convey it to the hall, and pull the door closed so that she gets the required couple of minutes to eat without interruption, because the rest have usually taken to a game of musical bowls by this point.

Then comes phase two.

All the while, a group of five or six strays will have been waiting outside our back door. This is also my fault. It began shortly after I began providing a regular breakfast for our cats. There would always be some food left uneaten, so I took to leaving the bowls outside the back door for the benefit of passing strays, of which there were a couple, specifically a couple who told their friends.

Feral cat populations will tend to stabilise, rarely exceeding a certain number of cats per colony, and you can look it up online if you don't believe me. So far as our back yard is concerned, and keeping in mind that we already have seven cats, that number seems to be about six, although it recently dropped to five when Garak stopped showing up.

Garak was a slightly elongated cat from a house at the end of the street. He wasn't actually a stray, but was nevertheless happy to help out at breakfast time.

Don't mind if I do, he seemed to say as he sauntered onto the porch each morning. For the sake of calling him something more personal than that one over there, Junior named him Greenie after a lame character in something called Maze Runner. The name Greenie implied a new arrival and this cat had just showed up, so there it was; but I wasn't going to call him Greenie because I disliked the name, and Maze Runner sounds rubbish, and when the boy has emptied his first litter tray, maybe then and only then he gets to decide what we're going to call those cats he occasionally notices over the top of his iPad. Anyway, this cat looked like a Lester to me, so that's what I called him until a neighbour informed us that he already had a home and was known as Garak, presumably after the Cardassian tailor from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Garak was fine by me, because somehow the cat really did resemble the character played by Andrew Robinson.

Anyway, for whatever reason, Garak simply stopped showing up - although I've seen him out and about a couple of times since so I know he's okay - and the b-team now comprises just Gary, Mr. Kirby, Charlotte, and the Gus sisters. These are the strays I feed, although technically Gary isn't a stray either. He lives at a house at the opposite end of the road to the former residence of Garak, but his owner is deranged and calls him Fat Cat, presumably because he's huge and fluffy and she doesn't have much imagination. I call him Gary because he's large and not very bright and is always hanging around whenever I open the back door, much like Gary my neighbour from when I lived in London, whom I miss.

Charlotte is a Siamese cat, named after my wife's stepmother, the one who was niece to Johnny Cash.

The Gus sisters, whose obvious affection for each other suggest that they're almost certainly related, are named as such due to their shared resemblance to the late Gus, short for Asparagus.

Mr. Kirby is a stray we first noticed when searching for Kirby, who briefly went missing. We noticed him because he resembles our Kirby quite closely, but for his possessing a massive pair of knackers. Like his female counterpart, his black on grey stripes divide into spots in places, suggesting some Bengal heritage, and unlike our Kirby, he makes a hooting noise in lieu of a meow.

So, with the indoor cats fed I step out onto the back porch to feed the rest, unless it's winter and not yet light. If it's still dark, there will usually be a couple of trash pandas hanging around in the hope of getting in on the act; and while I like trash pandas, they hustle the cats away from their food and have a habit of taking everything to the water bowl to wash it before they eat, which may sound endearingly weird or even cute, but gets a little annoying after a while given the state of the water afterwards.

Anyway, Mr. Kirby remains a little feral. I can stroke him when he's eating, but he will otherwise avoid coming too close if he can help it; and yet at breakfast he hoots away like I'm a long lost friend.

I have six bowls which I place on the glass table on which we keep pot plants in the corner of the porch. I have three of the five ounce cans and I divide the contents between the six bowls with a fork. Mr. Kirby gets the first one because he's usually right up there on the table. Then I give Gary a bowl, because even though he has a home - albeit one in which he may not be appreciated as is his due, judging by how he spends all of his time at our house - if I don't give him a bowl, he'll just nab one from someone whose need may be greater. Finally I set the other four bowls down, and the three girls watch and wait for me to leave before joining in. The fourth bowl was originally for Garak, but now serves as a spare. As I go back inside, Nibbler usually slips past me in search of further gastronomic variety, and so the fourth bowl means everyone gets to eat.

This done, I make my toast and coffee and go back to bed to read for a while. Some days it's a pain in the arse, but it never takes longer than ten minutes, and even on a bad day it brings a great sense of satisfaction as I watch them happily stuffing their faces.

So now you know.