Stalker

by Douglas Perenara Johnston

She hunts. Belly low, moving to an elevated position. One obstacle left. Finally, above her prey. A noise as she brushed past. She froze . . . the quarry was still asleep. Caution replaced disdain for this creature. Changing hue to match surroundings was clever. Underestimating a foe—deadly. Bunching muscle, she pounced.

Swift death descended on target . . . in the blink of an eye, hands seized our hunter mid-air.

How could you? she thought indignantly.

“No, you don’t, little rascal! Let Daddy sleep.” Mari spun the kitten Moxie.

Mari enjoyed watching Moxie stalk Grant. She performed well, besides nearly knocking a plant off the windowsill.

“Daddy deserves rest after working hard. Right, darling?” Mari smiled at Grant, still in his rugby top, which matched the couch. Moxie’s answer was to chew Mari’s knuckles.

“You devil!” Mari protested, waking Grant.

“Sorry, Babe. Moxie was eating my hand,” Mari apologised.

“Bad girl!” Grant chuckled, taking Moxie.

“Behave,” he mock-growled, finger poking in Moxie’s face. Squeaked and cross-eyed, stern reply attempted.

Grant was soon asleep. So Moxie was banished with a ball to the floor.

Moxie sulked. These round things were boring. Then she saw it. A large black swishing tail. The other beast!

It slumbered. Twitched. Yipped.

The perfect time to strike. Then, the leg kicked, and a large globe shape dropped from its sleeping basket, then another dangled there just below the tail. Mesmerising . . . Swinging there with a life of their own, far more interesting than the usual ones.

She hunts.