And the coyotes sang as the cats shivered in their beds. All wild imaginings of a peaceful night upset. I'd felt their eyes upon me as I shooed away the coons, a lone woman in a nightshirt, a broom her only weapon. I wondered if the song of blood was yet upon their lips or if they howled at night to celebrate the sex.
The cats were crazy just before the song.
"Can't she smell them? They're hunting," they whispered to each other in fear. It was Seth this time who let out the alarming call, the call to rescue, to wake us from our folly of peaceful slumber in a night such as this.
"Don't they hear them? They're hunting near our beds," they whispered. I wonder if the cats relaxed once they smelled blood through the open window through which I blithely listened to the song? Or did it send a shiver rippling through their fur?
Thank you for listening, jb