by Shawn Wells

Created on: November 11, 2010

The cat laying comfortably on my lap was named Caliope.  She was a beautiful calico cat, white, brown, and black patterns from tip of her tail to her nose.  And usually quite lazy.  Happy to soak up the warmth from my lap or lay in the sun and doze.  Unless an errant fly caught her attention.  Like now.

Through the room it comes, long circling loops along the ceiling.  Lower, lower.  Then makes the mistake of buzzing along past Caliope's left ear.  Immediately she is alert and tracking the insect in that cat-like way that just eminates stealth.  Eyes narrowed, ears pricked, claws starting to flex.  No low growl in the back of her throat, no mewl, nothing to alert the fly she has noticed its presence.  No fly can escape such a cunning hunter.

Caliope follows the fly's every movement until, finally, it comes to land on an orange balloon in the middle of the living room floor.  Easy prey, her little cat mind thinks.  Easy prey.  No mercy.

Caliope slinks off my lap, quitely down to the floor.  She crouches down, slowly approaching the fly with her haunches up and ready to leap should the offending insect try to flee.  She scoots along the rug, slowly, slowly creeping up on the fly.  She knows how they have the uncanny ability to see her approaching, fly away.  Once they get airborne her chances of catching them become...difficult.  She gets closer, and closer, until she's close enough to see the multi-colored reflections off the fly's wings.  And then...pounce!

Up into the air to cover the short distance and then down with both paws over the fly, perfect aim....

Bounce!

Caliope is thrown backward by the balloon.  At the same instant, her claws have dug into the inflated skin of the balloon and POP it explodes.  Caliope twists back to her feet, ears laid back, runs away from this impossible, unknown experience.  No fly has ever launched such a counter-attack against the great feline huntress.  I listen as her paws race up the stairs, down the hall, into my bedroom.  I find her later hiding under the bed.

"Meow?" she asks.

Yes, I assure her, the fly is gone.  And she will live to hunt another day.

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