Mom said the crocus flower is Manitoba’s flower, and it’s tough. I believe that. Last week, I flattened a bunch of those flowers in front of the house cuz I was mad at Mom. By the time I sat on the last one, the first clump was standing up again. What I got for all that work was a tired-all-over feeling. I jumped up into a plant container where passing dogs wouldn’t see me stretched out there—the perfect place to plan my runaway trip.
Except for the odd can rolling in the street, or plastic bags flapping against tree branches, it was real quiet. In a few minutes, cars driving past our house sounded like they were on nearby street, and then on blocks far away.
Yikes! I woke up shivering, not from the cold, but from the loud bark of a dog. He’s come down to our place before, and bothered me when I was in my chair on the porch. I guess he could see Mom through the window so didn't come real close. That time I stood up, looking like a mean Halloween cat. He kept barking, but did back up. This time, he was a foot from the planter, and could easily reach the top of it with his front paws. If I ran, he could catch me. If I tried to leap to the porch, he could get me as I stood and turned to spring.
“Listen, doggie, you’re being naughty.” It was Mom’s voice.
Suddenly, I was my fierce self--an African cat who could scare a pack of hyenas with a half growl. I stood and hissed while the beast bounded after a piece of chicken Mom threw across the lawn. Of course I intended to outrun the brute, and grab the chicken, but Mom had a treat-sized piece for me in her hand. Mom picked me up. “Doggie” had wolfed down the chicken before we reached the front door. Mom threw another piece in Doggie’s direction, and still holding me, opened the door and went in the house.
Fuming, I had to come up with a plot. Before I run away, I gotta teach Doggie a lesson. He wrecked my runaway plans (well, my almost plans). He downed a chicken breast in two gulps—more chicken than I've had in my whole life. But the most unforgivable is he left me red-faced (except it didn't show under my fur). What great savanna cat wants to be rescued by a puny human? It was my mom, a graying granny, right in the front yard where the whole neighborhood, including Doggie, could see and wag about it.
(c) 2012, Bernice W. Simpson