I Need a Coyote.

(photo courtesy of sxc.hu)

What kills cats? I pondered aloud over a sip of coffee among a table of my girls.



It was supposed to be my Friday off- my sweet succulent day of selfish indulgence that I had every-other Friday.  The children were gleefully kissed atop their heads and sent off to school, lunchboxes swinging as they skipped into the school.  I had a grand total of 3 hours every 14 days of complete and utter solitude.  Free time in which I had the option to contemplate the meaning of life, or to write the next great American novel should my heart so desire.  The world was my oyster.  [insert funny oyster joke here]



More often than not, Starbucks with my best girlfriends won out.  Though I'm sure I'll pump out the great American novel one of these free three hours.  Whatever it was that filled the time- I held onto these few moments and cherished them like a king holds close his jewels.



This morning though, was different.  I was not in my state of kid-free bliss.  I was tense and disheveled.  There was a Cat-astrophes (of which I will spare the details) that had all ready erupted in my perfect Scarlet O'Hara vision of a morning.  I didn't know how much longer I could go on like this.



"Hmmm.  Fox?" Someone suggested or perhaps it was a question.  Do fox, in fact, eat cats? I thought to myself, and twisted my right earring between my fingertips.



"Coyotes," Christy answered, always sure of herself.  Though nearly the size of a leprechaun, she was a blond, untamed ball of fire that was not to be provoked.  She certainly knew what ate cats.

And somewhere in that moment, the thought of a coyote sounded completely appealing to me.

I grew up in woods that contained a trace of at least every wild animal known to North America.  Wolves?  In abundance.  Bears?  Crawling out of the dumpsters.  Coyotes?  Without a doubt.



Coyotes were often spotted on the back gravel roads that wound like woven yarn through Minnesota.  Car lights would catch them in their night scurry.  They would pause for a moment and stare into the headlights, without blinking, daring you to come closer.   Their yellow eyes peered deep into your soul.  They weighted a mix of malevolence and guilt as if they knew in a few minutes you'd arrive home to discover all of your chickens had disappeared without a trace except for a few feathers and a mangled fence.  Nay did they back down but merely followed your car with their head as you passed ever so slowly- knowing you were safe as long as your car did not break down.



Yes, I'm sure they would make great pets.



Yes, the fact that I was considering actually getting a coyote slapped me in the face back to reality- telling me just how crazy I had become.  I was the crazy cat woman.  Four cats in one house was enough to drive an English nun to drink.



I never planned on having 4 cats, it just kind of... happened.  Like when you buy a shot-glass in a different state.  Soon everyone thinks you love shot-glasses and buys them for you.  Eventually you have a china cabinet that's full of shot-glasses instead of china. People call you a shot-glass hoarder when they think you're out of earshot.  It's terribly awkward.



I didn't need anymore shot-glasses.  And I certainly did not need any more cats.



Yes, a coyote would no doubt politely extinguish my cat problem.



Oh, it would all be innocent enough.  I found it on the side of the road, I would say.  I couldn't leave a stray behind out in the dark all alone.  It looked hungry.  And then... soon enough, nature would solve all of my problems- mostly on its own.



Some would say I could simply return the cats or bring them to the shelter.  No, no.  I had made a commitment.  To fail my obligation would be cruel and inhumane.  And so, I decided with much conviction, I would get a coyote.



I smiled to myself and sipped my coffee.  Yes.   And they all thought I was crazy.