The Case of the Coyote Invasion. John R. Erickson

birds, but what do they put out for the Head of Ranch Security? Cheapo Brand dog slop . . . in an old Ford hubcap!”

      “This is so sad.”

      “It’s worse than sad. It’s disgraceful, outrageous. But when I tried to help, Sally May screeched at me. Pete, sometimes I think this is a lousy job.”

      The cat rolled over on his back and began slapping at his tail. “I wonder what Cheapo Brand dog food is made of?”

      “Goat droppings, potato peelings, and garbage. Why do you ask?”

      “Oh, nothing. I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.”

      I marched back to him. “I probably won’t, but let’s hear it. I mean, you’re just a dumb little ranch cat, but every once in a while you come up with an idea.”

      “Oh, thank you, Hankie. I’m not used to getting compliments from you.”

      “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, because it might not happen again.” I glanced over both shoulders to make sure Drover wasn’t spying on us, then leaned toward the cat. “Talk to me, Pete. What kind of scheme are you cooking up?”

      “No scheme, Hankie, just a thought. If birdseed is better than dog food, maybe the birds should be eating the dog food.” He delivered a hard slap to his tail. “And maybe you should be eating . . . birdseed.”

      I stared into his yellowish eyes. “You’re joking, right? Dogs don’t eat birdseed.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because . . . I don’t know, because we don’t. It seems unnatural, a dog eating bird food.”

      “Eating garbage seems natural?”

      “I didn’t say that. My only point is . . .” I paced a few steps away. I mean, my mind was really spinning. “It’s an interesting idea, Pete, and over the next few days, I’ll give it some thought. We probably won’t use it, but if we do . . . hey, I’ll see that you get a little reward.”

      “Oh, thank you, Hankie. Maybe you could even share some of the birdseed with me.” He grinned and fluttered his eyelids.

      I paced back to him. “I said it was an interesting idea, but don’t let it go to your head. Good ideas are a dime a dozen around here, and most of them never make it past the Executive Committee. We’ll take it up at our next meeting, that’s all I can promise. Well, it was nice talking to you.”

      “Is someone leaving?”

      “Correct. You. I don’t mean to be rude, Pete, but . . .” I glanced over my shoulders. “Look, pal, it wouldn’t do my reputation any good if someone saw us talking.”

      “Ohhhh, good point!” He leaped to his feet and gave me a wink. “I’ll run along, and nobody will ever know.”

      “Thanks, Pete, I appreciate your attitude. I mean, you and I don’t make the rules, but we do have to live with them.”

      “You’re right, Hankie, tee hee.”

      “What?”

      He began walking away. “I said, you’re right. The world isn’t a perfect place.”

      “Exactly. One of these days, maybe cats and dogs can dare to be friends, but . . . well, we’re not there yet. See you around.”

      He waved one last good-bye and vanished around the north side of the house. At that point, I indulged myself in a rush of inward laughter and celebration. Do you see what this meant? Ho! I had just conned the cat out of a great idea!

      Maybe you missed it, so let me explain. Using clever interrogation techniques, I had coaxed some extremely important information out of the kitty. Here, take a look at my notes of the interrogation.

      End of File. Please Destroy at Once!

      Pretty awesome, huh? You bet. By merely switching food supplies, we could introduce balance and justice into the universe, while investing ranch dollars in our most important asset—ME.

      Wow! You talk about a great concept! This was a work of art, so beautiful that it almost brought tears to my eyes.

      And the best part about it, the very very best part, was that I had STOLEN the idea from Pete! Ha ha! I had promised to give him a “little reward,” remember? Well, I would deliver on that promise . . . and give him the littlest reward that money could buy: absolutely nothing.

      Ha ha, hee hee, ho ho. I loved it!

      Well, why not? Pete had built his whole career on luring me into traps and getting me into trouble, so this was just payback, and long overdue. After years of taking his trash, I had finally caught him in a careless moment. I was fixing to put his scheming little mind to work for the side of Truth and Justice.

      This was great. In one big game on the Chess­board of Life, I had solved the Bird Problem, the Dog Food Problem, and the Kitty Problem, all in one grand swoop.

      Hee hee. Sorry, I shouldn’t gloat . . . but you know what? I’m going to gloat anyway. Watch this:

      Gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat!

      Hey, this is fun.

      Gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat gloat!

      Hee hee. Whoever said that gloating isn’t good wholesome entertainment has never tried it. Take it from a guy who knows, gloating is good for the body and good for the soul. It’s inexpensive, low in carbo-whatnots, and high in villimuns, and it beats all the alternatives by a mile.

      Boy, what a triumph, but it was time to stop celebrating and get to work. I turned my enormous body around and faced the yard. The bird feeder was waiting.