The Hunting Ground
One evening Ms. Coyote told her worthless husband, Wile E Coyote, “I’m hungry!” She was pregnant with her tenth litter, due any day now.
“Yes dear, rabbit, quail, or…” He purposefully left it hanging for her to decide.
“Cat, a nice, domesticated cat,” she replied, her opened jaw salivating with craving. “Your babies wants a cat to feed on. They are so tasty.”
“Yes dear, a cat,” Wile replied and left the dank, dingy den and searched for the neighbors’ cats that abounded in this rural part of civilization. He met up with his two brothers who were also on a quest and their wives also wanted a cat for supper tonight.
“I don’t know about you guys, but my wife is really demanding lately,” Wile commented as they snuck around barns and garages, clandestinely searching for a cat or three since it was that many of them with their wives waiting oh so patiently for them to return.
“Yeah, but I can’t say no to Trudy,” Ralph told Wile.
“Wilma would kill me,” Fred agreed. “No, really, she would definitely kill me, then tell our pups it’s a new type of cat.”
The moon was hidden tonight, though clear with many stars, too many to count, not that they could, mind you as they continued their trek over acres and acres of land with houses and barns and other such buildings they noiselessly roamed.
“Shh, up there behind that garage. See him?” Wile he stopped and caught sight of a young tom just out of kitten phase,
“What’s he doing?” Fred whispered to his older brother.
“Apparently he’s looking to pounce on one of those mice there in that pile of garbage the humans discarded,” Wile replied, staring at the cat crouched and apparently ready to attack a mouse chewing on some kind of food scrap the humans had no use for.
“Watch and learn,” Ralph told his siblings as he reared back and launched his thin body in one bound toward the cat. The cat just then did the same thing not realizing the coyote was within a whisker of being devoured.
The fact that he missed his excellent opportunity didn’t go unpunished by his brothers who joined in the attack and Wile ended up with the prize though not without the customary badges of courage that went with it. No cat he has ever taken went down without a fight.
This one was no exception as it turned, snarled, and reared back, slashing its razor-sharp claws into Wile’s muzzle, sensitive nose, ears, and scruff, before he bit hard into the tom and rendered it dead as it gave a final gasp of breath.
“Honey, I’m home,” Wile told his pregnant wife as he drug the cat in and displayed it to her like a trophy.
“Oh you are good for something after all. Go ahead and wash yourself up. I’ll leave you the innards.”
RIP Cosmo
Jerry Schellhammer 