Eyes on his prey, he waits, invisible in his stillness. He slinks closer, but only by millimeters and only when the unsuspecting victim is focused on other things.
Twenty-five minutes into his quest, Sampson senses a slight signal of vulnerability in the tiny mouse, now only a few feet away. The little tiger springs across the green living room carpet. Into his eyes flash the tall grasses of the jungle. Small involuntary muscles unsheathe claws, razor sharp from daily workouts on an old scratching pad. Primitive sounds and smells meld in his brain. "Grrrrr," he roars.
A slight quiver just before impact provides the only evidence the mouse is aware of the attack. Sampson would prefer to taunt and tease his victim, but his claws are too sharp and one is driven deep into a vital organ. Perhaps this is the only kindness in the whole operation.
A second later the deed is done.
Tomorrow: Dueling Arias
Hollis' funny names:
Justin Thyme is punctual
Bud Tugley ain't a pretty sight
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