Part 3: Tommy

 Part 3: TOMMY

To regret too late to save oneself does one

not much good at all.                                                                  

                                                         —barbsdad

BREAKFAST WOULD BE Tommy's in a split

moment or two.  Licking his moist chops,

and trembling all over from excitement, tail

all atwitch, hungry Tommy could practically

taste it already.

And although he had previously anticipated

he would be eating black squirrel, he'd now

adjusted his thinking and would be more

than happy indeed to eat brown squirrel

instead.

With that thought foremost in mind, he leaped

high---and as he did, he changed his familiar

tomcat form: He enlarged his whole body.

His back arched. His trailing tail had swelled,

ceasing its nervous twitching.

All four limbs outstretched. His sharply curved

claws---on both front and back feet, no less---

extended like the talons of a famished,

striking hawk.

His mouth gaped wide, and lips drew up

and back to reveal a pair of long white fangs ...

and to expose the bright red of the inner skin

of his mouth ... and of course the blue-red

of his muscular tongue.

His eyelids had pinched to horizontal slits,

and his mental focus intensified beyond

all rational belief or understanding.

Now, as everyone ought to know by now,

tomcats don't eat red foxes, or even savor

them; they generally steer clear of them.

Probably for health reasons. Common cats

are at a sparring disadvantage where foxes

are concerned.

But in this instance Tommy, trapped in midflight

above red vixen when he realized his terrible

error, had no avoidance options available.

Because he was about to splat! right on top

of her.

(to be continued in Part 4)