I take no pleasure from bloodshed

“I won't be wronged. I won't be insulted. I won't be laid a hand on. I don't do these things to other people, and I require the same from them. ” -- John Wayne in “The Shootist”I wear my battle scars well. They are badges of honor, and warnings to all who would enter my circle of death uninvited. I am a seasoned fighter, a creature of both cunning stealth and sudden, brute strength. A guerilla gorilla.But I do not relish violence. I desire only peace and respect and dinner on time. I am content to keep to the shadows and let trouble pass by unmolested ... but I will not be pushed. Nor bathed.The truth of the matter is, I enter battle neither lightly nor often. Consider Fabio, the soft and silly fool, who lies about with his tender, doughy belly exposed to all the toothy world. He would have been meatloaf for the jackals years ago had it not been for my considerable sphere of protection. Yet he has seen many more battles than I, suffered greater and deeper wounds, for he waddles blindly into trouble, yodeling all the while: “Behold the fatted calf! Which way to the wedding feast?”It's no wonder he spends so much time wearing the inverted dunce cap of the incompetent.Darkness and silence are my allies. I move only in careful arcs, always protecting my flanks. I never break eye contact. I never step aside. And most of my battles are won without a blow, with my claws holstered and my gaze unflinching. You may go your way in peace, if you go now.Or stay, and I'll take your face off.