Catch As Cat Can

                "Sure." Mrs. Murphy batted the jacks ball between her paws.

                "Give us the ball back. We'll clean up. I promise."

                "Maybe I will and maybe I won't." With that she catapulted straight up in the air, turned halfway round, dropping back on the ball. She flopped on her side, kicked the ball out with her hind legs, then chased it wildly under the saddle racks and bridle hooks. She whacked it hard with her right front paw. The little red jacks ball slammed against the wall, bouncing back almost into her jaws.

                Murphy carried on like this for five minutes until she tired of solo handball. She tantalizingly deposited the jacks ball about a foot from the mouse entrance. Making a great show of leaving the tack room, she tiptoed back in, silently vaulting onto a saddle. Holding her breath, she waited until she saw tiny whiskers appear in the opening.

                "She's gone," a voice said.

                "Oh, no, she's not. I know Mrs. Murphy. She's clever," the original high-pitched voice replied.

                "Mom, you worry too much. She's up in the hayloft with Simon."

                "Bart, don't you go out there. You can play later."

                But Bart, young and full of himself, thought he could dash out, grab the ball, and roll it back in. Even if the cat happened to be in the tack room he thought he was quicker than she was. Wrong.

                Bart no sooner scooted out than the full weight of Mrs. Murphy surrounded him. She'd jumped down, pinning him under her beige-striped tummy.

                "Bart! Bart!" his mother screamed.

                "Mom." His voice was muffled by all the fur.

                Murphy, highly pleased with herself, twisted her body so Bart could stick his head out from under her but couldn't escape."Worm."

                "Oh, please, Mrs. Murphy, don't kill me."

                "I'm going to play with you, I'll let you go, then smack my paw down on your tail. When I'm tired of your foolishness, I'll snap your neck and bite your head off. I'll leave your head right here so Harry can see what a mighty mouser I am. I'll eat the rest. Yum."

                "Take me." Bart's mother boldly hurried outside amid screams from the other mice inside.

                "I could have you both, you know, I'm that fast."

                "You're a fabulous athlete, Mrs. Murphy." The mother walked right up to Mrs. Murphy's nose."But he's young. I'm not. Take me."

                Bart was sobbing. Mrs. Murphy considered the situation. She heard a soft flutter in the rafters. The owl returned from hunting.

                "Go on. Get in there. She will eat you. I won't."

                "Bless you, Mrs. Murphy." The mother hugged Mrs. Murphy as best she could as Bart scurried into his home.

                "Just clean up around here. If you don't I won't be nice to you next time."

                "We will!" the jubilant chorus agreed from behind the wall.

                Satisfied that she'd struck terror into their hearts, the tiger emerged into the center aisle, then climbed the ladder up to the loft. Simon was asleep, his treasures surrounding him.

                She looked straight up into the cupola as the owl, over two feet of her, peered down.

                "Who?"

                "You know who."

                "Indeed I do. A saucy cat. A spoiled cat. Mrs. Murphy. What are you doing in here? Get caught in the rain?"

                "No. I woke up when it stopped. Have you been hunting in it?"

                "A foray when the worst was over."

                Mrs. Murphy climbed to the topmost hay bale."Come down here and talk to me so I don't get a crick in my neck. And 1 don't want to yell. Sooner or later Simon will wake up and whimper. You know how he is."

                Although not close friends, the two predators had respect for one another even though the owl did not understand domestication one bit. She glided down, silent as the tomb. Gave Mrs. Murphy the chills because when the owl hunted you didn't know what hit you until it was too late. Even sharp cat ears could only discern her presence when she was already close.

                The owl's bright yellow eyes blinked."What's on your mind, pussycat?"

                "I have to get over to Tally Urquhart's but I can't cross the creeks."

                "Over the banks, debris hurtling in the water. The beavers don't even want to come out of their lodges and the lodges are getting holes punched in by tree limbs. You can hear the roar." The owl blinked.

                "Yes, I heard it when I left the house. I suppose I could open the truck window when we pass Tally's drive and hop out of the car. Mother has to slow for the curve but I don't like her knowing I can manage the windows. It's not good for humans to know what we know."

                She chuckled."That's very owl-like of you." She fluffed her feathers, turned her head almost the whole way around, then settled herself."Want me to fly over?"

                "I need to get in the house."

                "Ah, I can't help you there."

                "You see, two humans have been murdered. One was hanged and the other was shot."

                "I know."

                "I guess you would. You're out and about. I didn't think you cared much about human affairs."

                "I don't, but murder has a certain lurid curiosity. We owls don't murder one another. You cats might tussle, a bad fight, lose an eye, but you don't murder one another. It's one of those depressing curiosities about humans."