Today – the first time I’ve ever seen it – it was Bugsy going two rounds on Barney.
It was after dinner, in the cool gray evening of a quiet Sunday. Barnes was meditating, inhaling the first lawn-mowing of the season. Bugs was crouched a few yards away from him, on the floor by the play-mat.
Knowing perfectly well Bugs wouldn’t like it, I flopped down on the floor right next to him, close as a whisker-width. Sometimes I just get tired of the cats having their way all the time.
Sure enough, he got up and stalked off.
But suddenly he hit the floor and commenced to doing that stalking-hip-sashay thing. You cat people know what I’m talking about. He then launched himself over the box and landed right on top of Barney.
Thereupon it was a throw-down of the all-too-often-repeated same-old. But where Bugs is usually the attackee, this time the tables turned.
Left hook to the ear! Arm-lock around the throat! Ferocious bitey to the back of the neck! Barney is down! makes like a fish! Flops free! Dashes off! Is tackled! Repeat!
And then – quiet.
No trash-talk, no blood, nor flying fur.
Night falls. Another day is done.
Here’s the death-dash up the screen, going for mousie.
Here’s Barney contemplating same.
Here’s Barney’s version of coming into his own – the two-tone ruff.
These elegant, fascinating beings who make their home with us.