This week with Times 7:
...As he started to put more wood on the fire, he smelled the cat. It had to be close, but it hadn’t made a sound – not even the cough. Last night, it had coughed before it attacked. The cough was probably instinctive and might be used to frighten its prey into showing itself. This was the second time it had approached in a weird manner. Why did it keep after him? He had burned its face and shot it with an arrow, yet it still came back. Thank God it didn’t hunt in the daytime.
As Mack’s heart seemed to do a flip-flop, the cat suddenly slammed into the bars across the entrance, squalling with anger and frustration as it struck the wood head-on. After slamming into the bars several more times, it lay on its side and extended an enormous paw under the bottom bar, slapping its clawed appendage around until it hit the fire. Even when the fire burned its foot, it struck again and again, as if trying to kill the source of its pain. The pain from the burn even seemed to intensify its anger, if possible, and it screamed and charged the bars repeatedly. When it failed to get in, it stood glaring at him through the bars before urinating on them, then, as if it were a mist in the night, it was gone.
An examination of the bars brought a sobering thought. He hated to admit it, but the cat had made headway. Two of the poles were seriously loosened. He hurriedly pounded more rocks into the holes to tighten the bars back up. One hole had a crack radiating away from it in the hard-packed dirt. If the cat ever realized there was a weak spot, it might be able to get through. He had never seen such determination in an animal. It had even changed its hunting technique. Normal animals didn’t learn that quickly. He examined the poles and found that one already had a crack near its center. Maybe he should have shot the cat again. He had planned to try to kill it with the spear if it attacked, but during the furious assault on the bars, he had, literally, just stood there awestruck.
Well, shit. You just stood there like an idiot and watched him trying to tear the bars down. You could have – at least – shoved a piece of burning firewood in his face or jabbed him in the chest with your spear. Disgusted with himself, he began checking the bars and their corresponding holes for more damage.
Boy, you’re bright. You had a perfect chance to, at least, hurt it, and what did you do? Nothing.
...
Have a goodun;
Roust