Hmmm
. . . what to do? I take a leisurely karate swat at a pine cone and watch it
fall. Direct hit on the Angel’s snoot, and wow! He’s gone berserk, jumping
around like a gerbil on crack. I look down and hiss at him, then glance toward
the house and see Bucks scoot under the deck in the back yard. He’s safe there.
As for me . . . the coyote’s making surprising progress up the tree trunk,
coming close enough for me to smell his stinking breath. Your average feline
would be somewhere between scared stiff, frozen with fear, and terrified.
Needless to say I am none of the above.
I
make an elegant pounce to the rotten branch, knocking it loose, then jump to
the limb above as it drops. Direct hit, right between the eyes this time, and
the branch had some weight behind it. Dog-face yelps with surprise and decides
he’s had enough. I make a leisurely descent as he trots away and go back to the
house where I find the servants have closed the laundry room window. Humans, go figure.
Might
as well join Bucky underneath the deck. “That was the dumbest thing you ever
did,” I tell him.
“It
was not,” he argues.
“Yes,
I’m sure you’re right.” He nods agreement and I spend the rest of a long,
boring night remembering stupid things he’s done in the past. By morning I decide
my first assessment was correct. His previous faux pas were embarrassing, but
not life threatening.
At
seven our male servant opens the back door on his way to the garage. “Their
back!” he yells to his mate.
“Thank
God!” She calls back as we saunter in.
“Yeah,
right. The terminator has returned. So what’s for breakfast?” I meow.
After
a low carb meal and a few welcome home treats I decide to take a snooze on my
surprisingly expensive carpet from Kathmandu.
It’s been a long day’s night.
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