Cat on the Scent

            She charged into the paddock on the west side of the barn where Poptart, Gin Fizz, and Tomahawk were munching.

            “Help me!” She streaked past Harry’s horses.

            The three horses spread out as the forty-pound bobcat tore over the earth. They pawed, snorted, and ran around, forcing the big cat to weave. It gave Mrs. Murphy just enough time to dodge into the barn and climb into the hayloft. She ran to the open hayloft door.

            “Tucker, help me!”

            The horses continued to chase the bobcat, who easily evaded them.

            The powerful animal slid out of the paddock to sit outside in front of the hayloft, where she eyed her quarry above.

            The owl, on a trip back to her nest with a mouse, swooped low over the bobcat but the animal wasn’t afraid.

            Simon, in the feed room, gobbling up sweet feed that had fallen on the floor, froze stiff. He was all ready to flop over and play dead if necessary.

            Gin Fizz, old and wise, ordered the others, “Make a lot of noise. We’ve got to wake Harry.”

            Pewter, asleep on the kitchen table, woke up at the din of neighing and dashed to the window. Seeing in an instant what was going on, she hurried into the bedroom, leaping on Harry with all her weight.

            “Uh.” Harry opened one eye.

            “Tucker, wake up!” Pewter shouted at the dog, sleeping on her side. “Bobcat!”

            “Huh?”

            “The bobcat’s sitting under the hayloft and she’ll get Murphy.”

            “Where’s Murphy?”

            “In the hayloft, stupid!”

            Tucker shook her head. Why did cats hunt at night? Nonetheless the corgi scrambled to her feet and barreled through the animal door in the kitchen door.

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            “Wake up! Wake up!” Pewter jumped up and down on Harry.

            The neighing and snorting finally filtered into Harry’s ears.

            “Dammit!” She shot out of bed, switched on a light, and grabbed her shotgun from the closet. She slipped four shells into the pocket of her robe, which was half on, half off, as she ran in her bare feet for the kitchen door.

            Tucker squared off against the bobcat, who was spoiling for a fight.

            “Don’t risk it.” Mrs. Murphy leaned so far over the hayloft opening, she nearly fell out.

            The bobcat coolly waited until Harry switched on the outside lights. Then she turned, calling over her shoulder, “Beware, little cousin, the hunter can become the hunted.”

            With one mighty bound the bobcat cleared the paddock fence and ran out the northern side, Gin Fizz giving chase.

            By the time Harry reached the fence line she saw the bobcat cruising along, maybe one hundred yards out. She put down the shotgun to climb over the fence.

            “You guys all right?” In the moonlight she carefully checked the horses for scratches or injuries. Dawn was a half hour away. Then she hurried back to the barn, looking up at her friend. “Are you all right? Come down here so I can see you.”

            She walked into the barn and clicked on the lights. As Mrs. Murphy was backing down the ladder, Harry ducked her head in the feed room to see if any mice were in evidence.

            “Simon.”

            Simon was playing possum. He’d been so traumatized by the bobcat that when he heard Harry’s voice he couldn’t move forward or backward, so he dropped over.

            One eye opened when Harry cut off the light.

            Mrs. Murphy landed on the tack trunk. “Let me look at you. If I have to make a screaming run over to Chris Middleton’s at this hour I won’t stay friends with our vet for long. You’d better be okay.”

            “I am.” Mrs. Murphy’s fur was still puffed.

            Tucker, who’d run around the other side of the barn in case the bobcat pulled a fast one, trotted down the center aisle from the back.

            “Brave dog.” Harry patted the broad head.

            “I’m a corgi.” Tucker shrugged.

            “Thanks, Tucker. I owe you one.” Mrs. Murphy jumped down to rub along Tucker’s side.

            The three walked back to the house, Harry stepping lively since her bare feet were cold.

            Pewter greeted them at the door. “I told you not to hunt far from the barn!”

            “You stayed inside, chicken.”

            “I’d have come out and fought if I had to,” she growled.

            And in truth, Pewter could be a lion when needs be.

            Mrs. Murphy laughed now that the danger was over. “Close call.”

            Harry, wide awake, made a pot of coffee as she fed the animals. She’d grown up in the country. She understood the ways of predators. She knew that life could change in the blink of an eye. One false step and you were a bigger animal’s breakfast—or a smaller animal’s, if it was smart and strong enough.

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