Ghost Cat

At 5:50 this morning, it was still nearly dark. Lula Belle whined and yipped at the glass front door. I peered out and saw some sort of critter under a live oak near the pine tree line. It was too far away to see clearly but wasn’t big enough to be a coyote and not the right profile for a fox. The creature reared up and put its front paws on the tree trunk. Cat, I thought. A big cat, markings not right for a bobcat; just a large housecat on the hunt. The way it seemed to have a faint glow, edged in dull gold like it had been dipped in morning sunlight, was eerie. I dubbed it “ghost cat.” By the time I fetched binoculars, it was trotting away down the road and out of sight.

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