Masked marauding hordes

Everything seemed to be back to normal. The Man and Woman and Rodent all returned to their proper place, the hatch unsealed, the feeding schedule resumed, the poop box removed. Everything routine, everything just so.

My damage-control reconnoiter of the neighborhood revealed nothing out of place. Despite my long imprisonment, my turf remained secure, untouched. It just goes to show how a reputation can linger, even when you're not there to back it up.

Then again, as with the Great Pompey Magnus at Dyrrhachium, an enemy who seemingly avoids confrontation out of cowardice may in fact merely be marshaling his forces and rallying his allies.

So it was.

I was on a late-night patrol when the alarm sounded -- the hysterical staccato claxon of the Big Rodent. Bandits on the premises.

I made my way back to the yard and surveyed the scene. No sign of any intruders. But the Rodent's persistent yodels still echoed within the house, and I've learned to trust that outrageous snorter of his. Leaving the cover of the perimetric brush, I threaded my way through the grass toward the main hatch... and spied not one, but THREE masked, fingered behemoths on the stairs! Mr. Hands had brought along some muscle this time.

Just then, someone in the house snapped on the floodlights, and I was instantly caught in the open, completely exposed and far from cover. FOOLS! IMBECILES!

I hit the deck and kept my head down.

A moment later, the Rodent bolted out the hatch to find himself surrounded by this cadre of mutant cats, each of them easily four times his size. In a stunning whirlwind of feet and fur, the Rodent spun around and lunged back inside the house, while all three of the thugs sprung away in different directions. In one thrust -- coupled with the critical element of surprise -- the Rodent had scattered the enemy and returned safely to cover. Not too shabby.

Unfortunately, his advance flushed them my way, and I could not have been in a more miserable tactical position -- flat on my belly in the middle of the yard, bathed in bright light. To make matters worse, all three intruders had now leapt to the fence, so they held the high ground on me as well.

I had one option -- hunker down, retract my limbs, squeeze into a small black ball, and make like a pile of Rodent poop. With a little luck, the enemy would not even notice.

But luck was giving it to me right below the tail that night. For the Rodent, now emboldened by the enemy's confused retreat, suddenly re-emerged and pressed his assault, flying into the the yard and circling endlessly, barking and howling his desperate challenge. Perhaps this was his idea of cover fire, but the idiot had in fact now drawn the attention of Mr. Hands and his confederates to the open ground. He was leading them right to me.

Just when I thought I'd have to kill the Rodent myself to shut him up, the Woman appeared, rushing boldly past the furry vermin and into the yard to scoop up the Rodent. She whisked him back into the house, and suddenly I was alone among the enemy, still undetected, still frozen in a perfect crouch of invisibility -- and then I saw the Man coming straight for me.

Ixnay! Ixnay! Shaddup! Goway! I tried to wave the Man off with a meaningful glare, but he marched right up to me (thus giving up the whole show) and tried to pry me from the ground. I dug in and held on, never taking my eyes off Mr. Hands over on the fence, who was now taking all this in with an air of fascination.

Cursing and straining, the Man worked at me until my grip finally gave. Then, holding me at an undignified arm's length, he "evacuated" me to the safety of the house. And I swear, when I glared back at the enemy, the bastards were SMIRKING.

Sons of bitches. This isn't over!