A few mornings ago, I went outside to get the newspaper, only to find Big Bore already up and at ‘em and pacing the front yard.“Well, I think I’ve found out what’s happened to our owls,” he said of our missing-in-action bird pals.
“What?” I asked.
“They’re in Princess’s stomach!” he growled. Princess is the ill-named yellow tomcat that belongs to one of our neighbors but roams the ‘hood seeking excitement and trouble. Sometimes we find him perched on our birdbath getting a drink and waiting for a thirsty, feathery tweeter.
“You’re kidding! What makes you think that?”
“I saw him way up in the tree a while ago on the branch where the owls usually are.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.”
“You want to hear what happened next?” he asked, in a somewhat forlorn tone.
“What?”
“I threw a rock at him to get him out of the tree,” he started. Oh, crap. Surely he didn’t kill Princess.
“…and it ricocheted down and broke one of the Stuber’s garage windows.”
I was almost relieved, but BB felt terrible about it and was waiting for our neighbors, not the ones who own Princess, to get home so he could go over to plea guilty and apologize. He’s already gone to the lumberyard to buy a little replacement pane and plans to be making his amends this weekend.
“I’ve got just one thing to say,” I told him. “You’d either better learn to control your temper against Princess or improve your aim.”
I suspect when BB is at the neighbors later today fixing the window, Princess will royally meander over and give him plenty of advice on how to get the job done right. Having lived with them forever, I know that cats ALWAYS have the last word. “Meow.”
2 comments:
i really think that a domestic cat would have trouble getting an owl---they have pretty fierce talons and beaks. probably they just moved to a neighborhood where the cats are segregated out?
Well, calling Princess "domestic" is a stretch. :)
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