Devonne Brown

Norris heard the rustling in the living room last night before I did. Thinking the worst, he leapt out of bed, and snagged my cheek with his back claw, narrowly missing my eye. Blood poured from the gash he left. There would be a scar. Dammit Norris.

While he hotfooted it to the stirring in the  living room, I made a detour to the bathroom to staunch the blood flow from my face. It felt worse than it was. Instead of a long line, he’d merely punctured my cheek, deeply, the scar would be deep, but not as noticeable. Makeup would fill in the hole. My tetanus shot was up to date. 

I walked into the hallway to see Norris crouched low, in slow-mo stalking position. He was about to pounce. His butt was doing the calibration wiggle, his back feet the kick ball change of balance. Something was about to be snagged. He was out of prey supervision and into prey capture and kill mode. I held my breath like my pride. 

The light was dim, but I could see something big working. It wasn’t  Madam, the other cat, but it was big. Norris lept and they tussled. Norris hissed and yowled. The thing got him around the neck and kicked him in the dark of his nether regions and got out the back door without much fuss. Norris was in a humiliating mess on the table. I turned on the light. Chocolate eggs, a basket, and plastic Easter grass lay hither and yon across the table. 

Norris the Brave had thwarted the Easter Bunny in mid delivery.