It’s 4:00 in the morning at my home in Burton, a rural Midwest community in the Great Lakes region of the US. The family is asleep, including a sweet mutt named Cindy (full name Cinnamon). She weighed in at a stout 35 to 40 pounds and was the second-in-command in the home. First in command was a black-as-coal cat named Samuel. He weighed in at about 15 pounds, and though he was fixed, he still loved to prowl the woods out and about in this rural community.
It was a warm summer night, and the windows were open, and it was quiet. Suddenly, a shriek was heard; it sounded very much like a cat that was in severe distress. I jumped up and listened closely, but there was silence. Then, a moment later, a second shriek, and then Cindy lept to her feet and raced for the front door.
I ran down the stairs and threw the door open. Cindy dashed out the door and headed to the left, and left again at the corner of the house. It was roughly five minutes before anything happened, and then, from the right of the deck, emerging from the shadows, was a small black animal, followed by Cindy. Sam emerged onto the deck and calmly walked into the house.
Cindy, typically subservient to Sam, double checked to make sure he was OK, and then the two of them curled up and went to sleep.
Sam typically won every fight; he often caught birds and was an excellent mouser. This day, he apparently picked a fight with something bigger than he could handle. And he called his sister… 🙂
Cindy and Sam crossed the rainbow bridge a long time ago, one due to Cancer and one due to a bad driver. I miss them still.