story 3.2

Tatilla snarled at his reflection, a fearsome grimace. His eyes narrowed into slits, his upper canines sneering, his lips drawn into thin lines, his whiskers drawn down in a display of displeasure.

He turned his back to his reflection and stalked away, showing his contempt for his helpless situation. He couldn't stop the twitching of his black-banded tail, swishing side to side. Tatilla stalked majestically to his wooden shelter, and he crouched there among the upright faux-timber.

Occassional suppressed rumblings emanated from deep inside his chest.

A new animal had entered his territory, Tatilla knew it. A fluffy-haired ginger tabby cat was prowling around, marking vehicles and fence posts and trees and houses. The cheek!

Mother, bless her un-tigerish heart, didn't know the seriousness of this presumption. Father did.

"Blast that pesky cat!" he would roar, and blast he did with the water blaster.

*psh!* *psh!*

A stream of water shot from the porch to the fence on the other side of the lawn. And the cat would shoot away from the fence, and the birds and chicks were safe again for the nonce.

Dad's strawberries though were again exposed to the full pillage of the starlings and sparrows.