The bottom rim of the sun, hovering over the spine of the mountains, would soon dip down, ushering in an explosive sunset followed by a beautiful twilight. The changing seasons specialized in twilights of various blues.
Animals moved about as day gave way to night. Day hunters and feeders headed for home, the night creatures popped their heads out of dens, stuck beaks out of tree hollows, preparing for activity. The deer moved toward their sleeping places, which were usually sheltered from the winds in a thicket. Even the beavers stopped timbering, carrying a few thinner branches toward their lodge. That would be tomorrow’s task, trimming the branches.
Mrs. Murphy, the tiger cat; green-eyed Pewter, the overlarge gray cat; and Tee Tucker, the intrepid corgi, relished this time of day. With a few barks from Tucker, the retiring deer bolted as the domesticated animals chased after them. Deer were so much bigger, to see them scatter away just puffed up the three amigos. A few harsh words might be exchanged with the fox whose den extended under the roots of an ancient walnut.
The turtles, the salamanders, the fish and crayfish prepared for night. When they sat by the creek, the cats would stare at the freshwater creatures, but in the main they found the fish boring. Birds, on the other hand, squawked, chattered, spit seeds, dropped earthworms on them, cussed the cats unmercifully.
A blue jay looked down from a poplar tree. “Empty-handed.”
“We weren’t hunting.” Pewter detested that bird.
“You couldn’t catch a mouse if your life depended on it. Fat, fat, water rat,” the handsome bird taunted.
Before Pewter could return the insult, Tucker looked up. She’d heard the sound wind makes through feathers built for speed as opposed to feathers designed for stealth.
Overhead, not too far, a fully grown bald eagle carried bloody flesh in its talons.
The three froze. Even the blue jay shut up.
The eagle tucked its wings close to its body and made a taunting dive toward the three pets, who flattened on the lane. At the last minute, the bird opened its wings, a span seemingly as long as a Cadillac, turned slightly, and with one mighty, taunting flap, off he flew.
“Did you see what he had?” Mrs. Murphy asked. “All I saw was bloody flesh.”
“A piece of rawhide hung from above his talon.” The dog looked at the huge bird fast disappearing, thanks to his uncommon speed.
“An eyeball. He carried an eyeball in his talon, hanging from the flesh,” the sharp-eyed blue jay informed them. “It was swinging. Blue. A blue eyeball. As blue as my feathers.”
“Sometimes a horse will have blue eyes,” Tucker mentioned.
“Human, a human eyeball. They’re easy to identify, really. Somewhere out there is a person with half a face,” the blue jay proclaimed, opened wide his own wings, lifted off toward the house.
The three looked at one another, then resumed walking toward the house and the barn.
Tucker, puzzled, wondered, “Maybe the rawhide held the eagle. You know, he was somebody’s pet and he got loose.”
“Tucker, a person would have to be crazy to keep a bald eagle. They’re ferocious, huge, and wild,” Mrs. Murphy replied.
“We were once saber-toothed tigers.” Pewter puffed out her chest.
“Yeah, and you sold out for tuna,” Tucker teased.
“Better than Milk-Bones. Dogs are really dumb,” Pewter shot back.
The dog and gray cat argued past the pastures and paddocks. The horses kept eating. They’d heard it all before, including knock-down, drag-out fights in the barn when the two would chase each other, buckets flying, brushes, even halters, pulled off their hooks.
Mrs. Murphy generally exhibited more decorum.
They pushed through the animal door at the large screened-in porch, then through the door into the kitchen, which also had an animal door.
In the kitchen, every cabinet door above the sink was open, dishes stacked on the counters.
Mary Minor Haristeen, “Harry,” stood on a half ladder, wiping down the interior of the cabinets with a wet rag. This was to have been a short task. That was three hours ago.
“Don’t step on the dishes,” she admonished the cats, already on the counter.
“These are old bowls. Throw them out,” Pewter advised. “You don’t have to keep everything. Look how chipped this stuff is.”
“It was her mother’s,” Mrs. Murphy said.
“Guess what? Her mother isn’t here to see it. I am. I don’t want to eat out of old bowls. I’m a modern cat.” Pewter sat beside the stacked bowls, tempted to push them off the counter.
Through the window over the sink, in the setting sun Pewter saw her blue jay nemesis settle on an overhanging tree branch. The bird turned his head to the right, then to the left to afford a clear view.
“Fatty!” he shrieked.
Pewter charged the window, nearly knocking the bowls to the floor, spit loudly, and slammed a paw into the window.
The jay giggled, then hopped up a branch, closer to the window.
“I will kill him!” Pewter promised.
“Get off here. You nearly knocked Mom’s bowls over,” Harry chided.
Harry climbed down the half ladder, put the rag in the sink, wiped her hands. Then she picked up the bowls, climbed back up, and slid them into place. She repeated this until everything she’d put on the counters was back in place.
Just as she finished, the back door opened and her tall neighbor, Cynthia Cooper, a deputy in the sheriff’s department, stepped inside.
“Now you come over. I could have used you to put away this stuff.” Harry pointed to the cabinets.
“A cleaning fit.” Cooper nodded.
“Fall and spring. Best time.” Harry stepped down, folding the ladder.
“You say.” Cooper leaned over to pet Tucker.
“Sit down. Hey, look at the sunset before you do.”
Cooper walked over to look through the sink window. “Like someone tossed a match into the sky.”
“I never get tired of sunsets, or sunrises, for that matter. Get off work early?”
“No. It’s six-twenty. Tell you what, it’s been a long day.”
“Accidents?”
“No.”
“Dad’s home!” Tucker rushed outside through the animal doors to greet Fair Haristeen, all six feet five inches of him.
“She’s so obsequious.” Pewter pouted.
Fair stepped inside the screened-in porch, stomped his boots to remove the dust, then opened the kitchen door. “Hi, honey.” He kissed Harry on the cheek, then kissed Cooper, too. “Never pass up the chance to kiss a pretty woman.”
“You’re the worst.” Cooper laughed at him even as she enjoyed the attention.
Fair was one of those men people liked, men and women.
“You know, honey, I actually understand that,” Harry responded and laughed. “And I’ll have you know you’ve walked into a better organized kitchen. Anyone want a drink? Tea?” Harry offered.
“Too late for tea, but if you have a beer, I will indulge, and I owe you a six-pack,” Cooper promised.
“You do not.” Harry pulled out glasses and three beers.
“We saw an eyeball!” Pewter wanted attention so she jumped on Fair’s lap. “It was bloody. A big, blue eyeball.”
“The bald eagle had it.” Tucker filled in detail.
Harry, wisely, put down some treats. Pewter liked Fair, but dried chicken twists trumped affection.
“How cold is it supposed to get tonight?” Cooper asked. “I haven’t had time to check the weather on my phone. Like I said, a long day.”