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 imported from Kathmandu, one of the few things still unpacked.