From the point of view of our cat, Boo.

Putting my nose to the thin sheet of vinyl, I sniffed at the cool air beyond then pushed my way through the door and out onto the deck. The deck was cold and old, like me, I thought with a smirk. I sat and licked my right paw under the porch light, it still tasted like the dog I smacked a few moments ago.  What’s that dog’s deal anyway?, I thought, why’s he always messing with me?

From behind me, the dog nosed his way out to join me on the deck. He saw me there, not three feet from his black snout, and paused. He stared at me, and I readied my paw once again. I slunk low and turned to face the canine. My ears flattened, I began a throaty growl. The dog sat back, looked away, and started scratching his jowl, the flap, flap, flap of the loose skin filled the night’s silence.

I turned up the volume on my growl, sat up, and raised my right paw with its now exposed fierce claws. “Fuck you dog,” I said. He ran off to is left into the back yard, and after he disappeared into the darkness, I finished my fur cleaning.

I leaped three feet in the vertical as a blur of tan fur and barking came from behind and the other side of the deck. When I landed, he nipped at my hip, and I ran into the darkness. The dog gave chase, and I was forced under the shed in the back yard.

He barked at the entrance. All I smelled was the skunk.

I turned with all the delicacy of a ballerina on point and stared into the darkness that was the underside of the shed. A pair of beady eyes caught the faint stream of porch light that entered the hole in the foundation. Fuck me, I thought.

I backed up, away from the eyes, until my tail hit the far wall. The dog continued to bark at the entrance, his snout stuck through the opening and sucked deep, nosey, breaths between barks.

I heard the sliding glass door open, and one of the humans yelled to the dog, “Arlo, Arlo, get in here!” The dog stopped barking and the sliding glass door slid shut.

I judged the dark corner and watched as the beady eyes blinked. The eyes waddled toward the door, and then two other pairs joined the first, these, much lower to the ground. Babies, I thought, the skunk has babies. I smiled and watched as they made their way out into the yard and I prayed that Arlo would again come through the doggy door and get what’s coming to him.

After more than a few moments, I stuck my head out of the hole in the footing and looked around for Arlo and the skunks. Finding nothing, I made my way across the yard, onto the deck, and nosed my way through the cat door. There was no sign of the dog, he must be on the bed, I thought.

The heater clicked on, and I made my way over to the soft cat bed before the vent. I loved lying there with the freshly headed air blowing over my body. It reminded me of descending Towne’s Pass into Death Valley. I dreamt of spring wildflowers and all the rodents the fresh buds would bring—warm and crunchy and easy to catch.

When I awoke, it was midmorning, and the sun streamed in through the many windows of this little house. A few dust particles danced in the currents of air. I stood and stretched, then headed for the litter box.

A few of my old messes lay buried still, a few of my old turds were gone, and I smelled Arlo. He must have rubbed up against the side of the litter box as he snuck in to steal a snack. The dog hates me so, and yet he eats my turds? What gives?

I dug a little hole and left another prize for him. This comes to you with love, Arlo, I thought. This comes to you with love. I turned around, had a sniff—I’m still healthy for an old cat—and pawed the litter until the turd was no more.