Family Forum / Parenting / Mothers / October 2008

May 9, 2001
Suburban Wilderness

I was witness to one of the most enjoyable hunter-prey
scenarios my domestic tabbies have ever provided.

I set both my grey tabbies out back (to allow them shed their
remaining winter coats in freedom against tree and bush rather
than my furniture and wall-to-wall carpeting). Stripes and
Tiger were baking themselves on the black-and-red brick patio.
The windless 106°F afternoon sun showed no sign of letting up.

Suddenly, from high above, an off-course mallard quacked and
flapped with a solid thud into the patch of green grass.

Both cats flipped over to their stomachs, instantly awake. They
crouched, tails twitched. Both were quite taken by this winged
rainbow. It bugled (a non-stop quack) its presence at touchdown
still unsure of what to do or how it'd missed the giant pond in
my neighbor's yard. In his confused excitement, he strutted
back and forth like a mechanical wind-up toy in a Warners
Brothers' cartoon. That indecision proved too tempting for my
urban tigers.

With speed only exhibited when I have the Water Bottle of
Discipline, they sprinted the six feet and launched like two
laser-sighted missiles. They landed simultaneously; one hit the
duck's back, the other clutched its breast and wings.

The mallard, knowing it'd made a tactical error, squeaked a
high-pitched quack.

Everything went down in a puff of feathers.

Tiger, on the bottom of the scrum, didn't appreciate two
objects on him and proceeded to kick out, raking several downy
feathers throughout the grass and brick backyard. Stripes,
tacked onto the duck's back and biting feathers out by the
mouthful, just couldn't seem to understand that plucking works
best when the intended prey is not moving.

Tiger rolled the bird (and Stripes) off his chest, a mouthful
of feathers jutting out like a walrus-mustache and lit up the
ground headed around to the front of the house.

The mallard, sensing the odds had moved back to even, suddenly
started to buck like a bronco on steroids. Stripes rode the
full eight seconds but at the buzzer forgot to shift his weight
causing him to be flipped over the duck's head and onto his
feet.

Feathers still sticking out of his maw, he sighed and proceeded
to clean himself. The two stood there facing each other. The
mallard broke the silence with one final time quack and beat it
into the air.

Apparently, given the fact that the odds were no longer in his
favor, and feathers didn't have the same appeal as other
foraged foods, Stripes decided that sprawling out back on the
warm bricks was less work.

The Ranger