The light jiggles down the hall, reflected from the CD I hold. Billy follows the moving spot of light, intent on understanding this alien encounter and ready to take action, if necessary.
Billy has a mean right hook, so rapid the movement becomes a blur. Ask Red who, despite being twice her size, has received the occasional ear boxing just for being Red.
The only thing that foils Billy is foil. Also, thunderstorms.
Her cat superpower faded as she aged, but was incredible when she still had it: running full bore up the stairs landing, springing on all fours against the wall, making a 180 in mid air, then a dash up the rest of the staircase.
Upstairs had been her domain. (Downstairs is Red’s). But the last year or so she’d ventured more and more into the downstairs territory. Her status as a non lap cat even changed, but only for Ivin, who was favored with her presence when he sat at the table. Perhaps, he being the main tuna salad maker, she thought there was a chance of a treat.
She was my clay table buddy, jumping up with grace and settling down for a good purr, ever diligent in observing whether or not a jar with soaking brushes or an open slurry bucket were left unattended. Unapproved water sources were her vice.