“Female owls?”
“Well, that too…I’m talking rabbits.”
I give it some thought. “I don’t know,” I say. “Rabbit trapping sounds harder than dumping cans of dog food.”
“No, Les.” Herb gives me an exasperated look. “You spread rabbit pellets around the yard. The rabbits come for the pellets, the cats come for the rabbits, and the owls come for both, taking the cat away because they are competing for the same food source. Problem solved.”
“It could work I guess.” I finish my second beer. “Thanks for the beer, Herb. I’ll go to the store soon.”
I’ve walked almost to the end of his driveway when he comes running.
“Wait, here’s the best one yet.” He tells me about this guy he works with who owns a dog whose claim to fame is being a cat killer. “I’ve seen him. He’s a big, mixed breed named Bruno. He will tolerate people and other animals, but when a cat comes around, he goes into monster mode. It’s not a pretty sight.
“I’ll see if Bill will let me borrow him for a week. We will let him roam freely between your house and mine. Bruno should have all those cats taken care of in that amount of time.”
“See what you can do.” And I start the walk back to my house.
* * * * *
So we’ve come up with three courses of action:
Plan A: Bruno, the cat-killing dog
Plan B: Owls, rabbits, and pellets
Plan C: Alpo and everything else
Will any of them work? Who knows? But I don’t feel good about it.
I decide to go to the Farmer’s Dollar today in case Bruno doesn’t work out.
* * * * *
Benny, the clerk and local boy, watches me wheel the hand truck up with everything I need. He looks at the five cases of Alpo, the two big bags of rabbit pellets, and the six large plastic dog bowls. He comes around the corner to scan them.
“Wow, Mr. Addison,” he exclaims. “You used to come in just for birdseed.”
“I don’t feed the birds anymore, Benny. Not since we’ve acquired all the cats.”
He looks at the stack once more. “Are you starting a zoo out there?”
“Trying to get rid of one,” I grin at him.
When I get back to the house, I hide the tools of my new trade in the garage.
* * * * *
The next morning, my phone rings. It’s Herb.
“I’ve got Bruno here. Come over. I want you to meet him.” The dog is a big brute, and I see how he got his name. Herb hands me a dog biscuit. “Give him this, and let him get used to you.”
I hold it out, and it’s gone in one gulp. The dog licks my hand, and I rub his big head. The plan is set.
“I will walk him down the trail to your backyard today. Let him get the scent of cat. Then at dusk, I will take him to the head of the pathway, give him another dog biscuit, and send him your way,” Herb states breathlessly, excited by all this intrigue. “At the same time, you place a bowl of cat food on your end. That should get the party started.”
“Do you think it will work?” I whisper, going along with his secretive scheme.
“No doubt in my mind. You better be up before Edith the next morning to clean up Bruno’s handiwork.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I whisper again.
* * * * *
The next morning, I get up before dawn, go out on the back porch to enjoy my pipe and to see if Bruno is true to his reputation. Sure enough, four still forms lie in the grass, and the cat bowl has been overturned.
I put the pipe down and go to the shed for the shovel and wheelbarrow. As I do the cleanup, I start doing the math. If Bruno does four to six cats a night, he will have done twenty-eight to forty-two by week’s end. That will put a sizeable dent in them.
As I scoop each cat up, I notice each one has a broken neck.
That Bruno really is a beast!
There is only one thing I can do with the dead cats. I wheel them down to the woods in back. A path takes me down a good distance and ends at a small stream. I go left and eventually come upon an old gold mine that was abandoned many years ago. I turn the wheelbarrow up, the carcasses slide out, and they fall many feet below.
I know it sounds cruel, but there’s nothing else I can do. I don’t have the time nor the energy to bury every cat we have. And if I did, Edith would become suspicious at all the small plots of upturned earth. And when she noticed the herd thinning out, she would put two and two together, put her foot up my ass, or have another stroke.
When I get back, I wash up, and the phone rings shortly thereafter. “Well, how did it go?” Herb asks.
“He got four that I know of,” I answer. “There could be more in the woods.”
“That Bruno. I told you he was good. Are we on again tonight?”
“Yes. Let’s try it again.”
I go back outside and remove the overturned bowl from the scene of the crime.
* * * * *
Daybreak the next day, I grab my pipe and slip outside to see what last night’s results were. I’m shocked to see only one figure lying in the yard, and it’s not a cat—it’s Bruno!
I step out into the yard and survey the damage. Bruno has been raked up pretty good, and the part with the most fur missing is around the neck, with it being partly torn open. It looks as though Bruno had his wind choked off. I look up at the cat bowl to see five of Edith’s biggest tomcats sitting there staring at the dead dog and me. It looks as if they’re grinning.
I take out my cell phone and dial Herb up.
“Hello,” he answers with sleep in his voice.
“You better get down here fast. Something has happened to Bruno.”
A short time later, I hear boots tromping down the trail. I’m standing by Bruno and the wheelbarrow when Herb exits the woods.
“What the hell happened?”
I point to the five big cats still by the bowl.
“They may have had a hand in it. Or it could be one of the few bobcats you say we have exacting revenge for cat’s rights.” I lift the wheelbarrow and situate it closer. “I thought you’d bring the truck.”
He looks at the dead dog. “I can’t take Bruno back to Bill looking like that.”
“You want to take him home and bury him?”
“Hell no. Clara knows Bill’s wife.”
“I have a suggestion.”
He helps me lift the dog and fit him in the wheelbarrow the best we can. His head and tongue drooping over the handled end, and his ass hanging over the scooped one. We roll him down to the mine and dump him in, joining the cats he killed the night before.
“What are you going to tell Bill?”
“I don’t know, but he’s going to be pissed.”
* * * * *
I give Herb a call later that day after he’s home from work. “How did it go with Bill?”
“I told him Bruno either ran off, or somebody stole him…I wasn’t sure which.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“Said