Then there’s Rosie. Plays in the park with forgotten stuffed animals and Frisbees. Endearing despite reputation.
One night, we three wind up on a narrow sidewalk between buildings. Me at one end. Coyote Rosie at the other. Gray tabby Obi in the middle.
What’s next? Cat supper? Coyote smackdown? Me bloodied trying to keep the two apart?
Cats’ tails are wonderful — easy to grab. I drag Obi into the bushes. And shoo Rosie away.
Next evening, thug Obi swaggers by to say thank-you.
I think coyote Rosie was the lucky one.