Sunday, December 14, 2008

EIGHTEEN

Sam stood on his hind legs munching happily on his spaghetti banquet, his hands and face coated in tomato sauce. “Now this is living!” he exclaimed, sucking another strand into his mouth. He suddenly understood why Cocoa was so passionate about mealtime, except with Cocoa there rarely seemed to be a break between feasts.

The hawk eyed Sam curiously. “Such a perfect snack,” he mused. “A tiny opossum stuffed with pasta. Delightful!” The hawk flapped his wings, and began his descent. He was sailing toward Sam like a bullet, talons splayed and his beak open when suddenly Sam heard Beatrice screaming as she raced up the compost heap.

“Duck, you fool!” she yelled, pushing Sam from the top of the pile, causing them both to roll all the way to the bottom, their fur coated in red sauce and other food particles. The hawk missed them both and gave an angry cry as he swooped back into the trees.

“Bea!” Sam exclaimed, though neither was recognizable now that they were covered in slop. “What was that?”

“That was the Grim Reaper,” Beatrice answered, breathless. “And you were going to be his next honorary guest!”

“Huh?”

Beatrice struggled to regain her breath, “It was a hawk. Don’t you know what a hawk is?”

Sam shook his head.

“It’s a dangerous creature that just happens to like young opossums like you. You’d make a very tasty dinner for him.”

Sam began to tremble but he managed to say, “Thank you, Bea. You saved my life! If you hadn’t come along…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he imagined the possibilities.

“What on earth were you doing up on that pile in broad daylight? You know better than that!”

“I’m sorry, Bea, but I was hungry. I haven’t eaten for hours and I guess I lost my head.”

“You certainly almost lost your head and everything connected to it,” said Beatrice with bitterness, attempting to wipe the goop from her body. “Oh, this is awful. We look like sewer rats.”

They began to clean themselves when Beatrice said, “Mmmm! This tastes like spaghetti sauce.”

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