On a Fence Between Two Deaths
Feline tenacity at its finest. The black cat
that doesn't seem to belong to anyone, and yet
is far too comfortable in the neighborhood to be a stray
decided to take a nap on our lawn lounger. All hell
broke loose when I took our dogs out. The cat screamed,
ran for the fence. The dogs raced to catch hi, the older
managing a mouthful of tail fur before claws
claimed top of fence as base. The cat hissed distempered
disdain down at the menagerie of irate mongrels
still carrying on their charge of attack. With a tail flick,
returned to jump to assumed safety of the other side when
two larger hounds chimed in, their attention now fixed
on the midnight pussy about to land in their laps. The cat
hackled haunches, arched his back into almost animated
proportions, a suddenly acknowledgement of potential
for actual danger. No longer the arrogant aristocrat of stealth,
he followed the canine catastrophe on both sides, moving
his head as if watching a tennis match. Claws out
again, though this tie clinging instead of mocking, he inched
along to fence connection, the third option, an abandoned yard.
Finally able to descend, he disappeared into welcoming arms
of safety, the camouflaging green of overgrown grass.
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