A Wild Cat Tale
Allen snorts but rolls over and lays still, so Thelma eases her body out of bed, hurriedly buttoning a thin gown against the chilled night air. Then quietly removing a shotgun from its roost over the headboard, she crept from the darkened room to investigate the racket near the end of the dam. Her henhouse just recently sounded an alarm and most of her chickens were excitedly hard at work on the project.
But by the time Thelma got to the area, things inside the coop were back to normal again, all but for a sampling of discontents who grumbled unsettled thoughts amongst themselves, chicken-style.
A sudden movement in nearby bushes frightened the poor woman, and so she reflexively aimed and fired a shot.
Thelma stands up now and stretches an arm up over her head to indicate just where and how she held the lifeless bob cat by the scruff of his neck.
Then she clucks her tongue twice and shakes her head once.
“His tail still dragged the ground, honey.”