coyote looks my way, wags his tail, and whines pitifully, begging for more Alpo. I’m not about to get up. “Move to another bowl,” I yell.
That settles it. Cat meat must not be very tasty. The only reason cats are killed by other animals is because they’re not very well-liked.
I’m turning up my glass when the scream echoes. If you’ve never heard the scream of a bobcat before, it’s especially terrifying when you’re not expecting it. It is sudden and causes a chain reaction: I drop the glass of wine, it bounces once on the porch, and the stem breaks off. The owl poops from the tree, and it falls into the bowl the raccoon is eating from. The raccoon, thinking the possum has flung it at him, runs over and slaps the possum while it’s eating. They commence to fighting. The five big tomcats, excited by the affray, come running out and join in. And the coyote, displeased at the rudeness of the other diners, intervenes by biting down on one of the cats.
The commotion has gotten quite loud, and I see the light come on in our bedroom. That’s when the second scream sounds out and yellow eyes appear from the gold mine path. The fighting stops, and everything that can run does.
It’s a large bobcat, and he’s coming through the yard to the porch. I don’t know if the cans under the steps are attracting him, if he enjoys white wine, or if he wants to meet the organizer of this event, but I’m not waiting around to find out. I slip through the backdoor to get my rifle behind it. When I turn back around, my foot hits the wine bottle spilling it. My other foot rolls over, causing my arm to come up and fire a shot through the roof of my porch.
The shot sends the bobcat on its way.
Edith comes out, snatches the gun from my hand, and breaks the stock over the porch railing. “It sounds like a damn saloon brawl out here.” She surveys the aftermath. “You’re on probation, mister!” And she storms back into the house.
A little while later, I peek my head around the bedroom door. “I think I’ll sleep in the study tonight.”
“Good,” she says.
* * * * *
I’m up early to clean the mess and tally the damage: an owl who either had a heart attack or was hit by the errant bullet, a broken rifle and a hole that needs patching, two dead cats and a mortally wounded possum, one broken crystal wine glass, and a turned-over bottle of high-priced wine. Edith would add one drunk to this list, but I was not.
Everything is loaded together and dumped in the gold mine.
I take everything of the failed experiment, a bag and a half of rabbit pellets, four cases and eighteen cans of Alpo, and six dog bowls, and take it all down to the local veterinary clinic. They are glad to have it.
I stop by Herb’s on my way in.
“That was some brouhaha at your place last night. How did our plan work?”
“They failed miserably,” I answer.
“They? I didn’t mean to combine the two.”
“Combined, or on their own, the general consensus is that cat meat is not very good.”
“So, what’s on the agenda now?” he asks me.
“There is no agenda. I leave on a three-day sales call tomorrow. Hopefully, that will give her time to cool off.”
“Damn, what happened there last night?”
I tell him everything, including the broken wine glass, the hole shot through my roof, and Edith breaking my rifle in half.
“You’re lucky she didn’t turn the gun on you.”
“Tell me about it,” I say. “She put me on probation.”
“Probation?” Herb looks perplexed. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know everything it entails, but a certain privilege has been revoked…if you know what I mean.”
He looks at me sadly. “I think I do.”
* * * * *
When I return from the Georgia trip, Edith greets me with a big hug, a deep kiss, and tells me she missed me. She seems sincere. I guess the incident in the backyard is forgiven.
Soon, Herb calls me on the phone. “Get up here. I have the plan of all time.”
Again, we are by his shed having a beer. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Herb says, “and it’s so much easier.” He goes over his new plan with me.
At first, I want to reject it wholeheartedly; after all, I could still be on probation. Even though it sounds far-fetched, it is simple, and it could work. And it would be nice to have only two cats by the time I leave out for Kansas City.
“What if she recognizes your voice?” I ask.
“I studied drama in high school and have a variety of accents. No problem there.”
“I don’t know…”
“Trust me. This will work. Just get me one of those burner cell phones and bring Singing Sammy Lee when Edith goes to the beauty shop.”
* * * * *
A short time later, Herb and I are standing outside the shed with Sammy Lee inside. I hand him the untraceable cell phone, and he dials up Edith, putting the speaker on for my benefit.
“I have your prize cat,” Herb says in a high-pitched voice that sounds Swedish.
“Do what?” I hear her say.
“Just offer up your other cats for adoption or turn them over to the animal shelter. You can keep the other Siamese, and when the other cats are gone, Sammy Lee will return.”
“Sammy Lee stays in the house,” she replies. “And how do you know his name?”
I’m making gestures at my neck.
“I don’t know…maybe your husband let him out. And his name is on his collar, along with your number.”
Whew! That was close.
“Is this Herb? You sound like Herb.” I’m making slicing motions on my neck now.
No! No! Abort! Abort!
“I don’t know who this Herb fella is,” he says in a deeper tone with a sinister Russian accent. “Just follow my instructions.”
“Tell Lester he better have Sammy Lee home when I get there…and he better follow mine. You and Clara up for a game of Rook on Friday?”
“You got it,” and he clicks her off.
Idiot!
* * * * *
The cat wraps around her leg and purrs when she gets home.
“I don’t know if you and Herb are getting
