Nine Lives To Die

Low clouds covered the stars. The sparkling winter sky, obscured, deepened the night, but the cloud cover did keep the temperature a bit warmer. The mercury hung at thirty-one degrees Fahrenheit.

“I hate New Year’s Eve.” At the kitchen table Harry wrapped a gift in silver paper, finishing it with a white ribbon.

“I don’t hate it, but as I’ve gotten older I can’t say that I look forward to it like I did at twenty-five.” Fair sorted through the mail.

“I did that already, honey.”

“I know, but I like to check and see the dates on the bills.”

“Have you noticed that the credit card bills are now due in three weeks, not a month? Everything is compressed, pushed forward. It’s like the entire world is trying to squeeze operating capital out of us.”

He leaned back in the kitchen chair, tidying the bills. “Yep. Some magazines send you renewal notices early or they offer you a deal if you renew early. You know, like a twenty-five percent savings. Then I get confused because I don’t remember when my annual renewal date really is.”

“It’s a racket,” she said. “The date is usually in fine print somewhere on the renewal notice. Sometimes I think I’ll just let everything run out.”

“Me, too. Then again, I know in time I’d miss something.” He stood up, walked to the sink, stared out the window. “Did you look at the weather report?”

“No. I’ll pull it up.” She plucked the Droid off the counter, opened it up, touched the weather icon. “Below freezing tonight, cloud cover, cloudy tomorrow and chance of snow on New Year’s Eve.” She looked up. “We really do have to go to that party, don’t we?”

“Fund-raiser,” he flatly stated.

Harry opened her mouth, stopped before she spoke, for a long, high-pitched coyote yowl captured her attention. “God, that’s a mournful sound.”

Fair peered out the window again. “Yes, it is. Sounds like he’s up in the walnut grove.”

“Danger,” Odin called loudly.

The animals listened intently. They’d heard his warning before. Mrs. Murphy finally asked, “Danger to him or to us?”

“Do we have to find out?” Pewter asked.

“If we don’t, it might find us,” Tucker prudently stated.

“Hush your mouth,” Pewter immediately replied.

“I’m going to the hayloft,” the tiger cat announced. “I can see better up there. Maybe Odin will come down and enlighten us.”

Tucker said, “We put out what’s left of the T-bones, plus some cooked rice. Harry threw out half a pot in a Baggie.” The corgi thought this a pretty good haul.

Aroused at the talk of food, Pewter chirped, “I’ll go with you, Murph. It’s not so cold up there in the hayloft, especially if we wait in a hollowed-out hay bale.”

“I’ll come, too,” Tucker said, headed out the kitchen animal door.

The two cats hurried after her, the door flap slapping as they bolted through.

“What’s gotten into them?” Harry wondered.

“You never know.” Fair smiled. “Predators work harder in winter. A lot of wildlife moves around. And that was probably a hungry coyote.”

——

That hungry coyote loped down from the timber, across the back pastures, as the cats watched through the slightly opened upper hayloft doors.

“He’s headed our way,” Pewter called down to Tucker.

“Okay.” Tucker pressed against the huge ground-level doors, listening.

Odin covered a lot of ground at an easy gait, reaching the outside of the barn within minutes of the cats spying him at the back open meadow. He quickly gobbled up the rice, then lay down to chew the delicious steak bones.

Mrs. Murphy looked down at him. “Odin, what’s this talk of danger? Whatever is going on up there?”

He swallowed before answering, “Two humans moved down from the top of the ridge. Their faces were wrapped up. One had a full pullover mask on, with eyeholes and a slit for the mouth. The other had a scarf across her face. I’m sure it was a her. Smelled like a female.”

“How’d the other one smell?” asked Tucker from behind the door.

“The wind shifted; plus, I wasn’t close. One thing’s for sure, I don’t trust either of them. I thought they might have guns and take a shot at me. So I don’t know how the one with the mask smelled.”

“How did they move?” Pewter asked. “Old, young? Damaged?”

Looking up at Pewter, Odin shook himself for a moment. “They moved like two cold humans struggling in the snow. Slipping and sliding, but no one was stooped. I don’t think they were really young, though. And another thing, one had binoculars around her neck.”

“Why did you call out danger?” Mrs. Murphy wondered.

“Because they were watching down here. Not moving. Watching like a predator.”

“And they came down from the ridge?” Tucker wanted to make sure she understood.

“Yes. That’s difficult for humans, impaired as they are,” Odin remarked. “Going down in bad footing is harder than going up. That’s why I called out to you. They want something here.”

The three domesticated animals were silent for a moment, then Pewter called down, “Were they by the uprooted tree?”

“They weren’t far from it. I didn’t follow them back up because I wanted food. But I’d be careful.”

“Did they see you?” Tucker inquired.

Odin laughed. “Of course not. I can be six feet from a human if the cover is good. They haven’t a clue.”

“When the weather is better, do you see a lot of humans on the ridge or walking paths down the side of the mountains?” Pewter asked.

“Not much. Most humans walk on the Appalachian Trail. They don’t wander onto private lands, and we steer clear of them. If hikers see us, you know they’ll call other humans and some of those humans might come to shoot us or trap us. We stay away.” Odin polished off the one bone, picked up the other.

“So these two know the trails and probably not just down to our farm,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Odin, did you see any guns?”

“No, just the binoculars,” he said, crunching another bone in his powerful jaws.