Tomcat

The sky is early morning pink, and bright orange tomcat walks tiptoe along the rooftop with tail wrapped around the weathervane. Sharp eyes spot milk steaming on the windowsill in a little saucer adorned with yellow watercolor flowers. Step, step down off the shingled spine and admit they’re just a little intrigued with their find. One socked paw dips into white, foamy substance and come backs warm like a tongue bath. Quick sniff, smells fresh like a mother cow, leftover butter melted and stirred in for extra flavor, and it’s too good to pass by.

Tomcat laps lustily, can’t help but twitch at the slightest noise. Pointed ears swivel as a rusty car comes up the dirt path, kicking up dust like an unbroken colt when it first tastes the bit. Milk wasn’t set out for tomcat, it was for Sunday cat who comes after church every week without missing a beat, baking like a biscuit on the front porch and rubbing against legs to greet. Friendly kitty just the opposite of tomcat, who takes what doesn’t belong. Tomcat, who silently creeps in the brush, waiting to fight with a possum or raccoon. Who kills the chickens and spatters blood across the yard, dragging off the feathered body and leaving the head frozen in trauma with sick purple esophagus flapping in the breeze. Who yowls like a baby and spits like a schoolboy. Gets a sharp kick in the stomach when it stays napping on the steps and sinks dagger claws into boot toes instead of streaking off. Lets spit fly off its tongue, sailor cusses that don’t snag on the rough-edged tongue.

Milk dribbles off tomcat’s face, an old man beard of liquid stretching from lip rim to throat back, and he’s caught in the act. Spring away from the window and gallop off before more mischief can follow. Bowl was almost drained, can spare a few more sips. Tomcat sprints headfirst into golden grasses arching to the sky and suddenly trips over big black serpent.

Tussle begins with a reptile’s scraping snarl. Tomcat bats the fanged snake head away with an extended claw. Snake hisses and flares just as well as tomcat. He smells venom on those pointed teeth and wonders if the ending comes so soon. Sends the snake hurtling with hind legs thrust into the jaw, but as soon as tomcat’s up to run, big black serpent has him pinned again. Keep the nasty head away, but no one can play this game forever. Heavy coils like an eel drape across the chest. Tomcat cannot run, cannot escape.

Piercing sound cuts the air like a rocket. Snake stomach peels back in shreds, sliced apart by a bullet. Man holds a rifle, two black eyes of the gun cursing the fate of snake. Man stares at tomcat, waiting for response. Does he know how to thank? Does he have any manners? Does he recognize when his life is saved?

Tomcat stares back in wonderment. Human is an enemy, as is the rest of the world. Scorners he promised to oppose. Owners and turkey vultures alike want no feisty kitten that howls louder than a wolf and struggles harder than a trout. Survival. Caging the heart up like a canary. No trust for anyone but yourself. Who needs people. People who hate. Let them see ear notches and think that’s a fighter. Then they won’t touch you, splay your claws across their palms to sever the tips with clippers, tie bonnets under your chin, tickle your ribs with insistent fingers. The people who don’t understand this country feline with alley cat material.

Then there are people who waste their ammo on a troublemaker.

Arched back slouches, ruffled fur smoothes out. Give them no reason to think you’re grateful; keep it real, play it cool, act natural. Tomcat turns tail with a little flick and slides back into the prairie. Sky’s turned bubble blue, still alive, still breathing, even if he can’t believe it. Milk dries on the ruff and tomcat wants to sleep now, in the cool shadow of a bat-ridden barn. Let the chickens have their heads today. Humans deserve that much.

~O~
Bit different style than I usually go for.