The Trouble with Kittens

I’d know that shaggy waste of fur anywhere.

“Hey, Sis,” I said, plopping down beside her. The sun would set soon, and the air smelled alive with promise. Insects buzzed, and birds called out.

“Look,” she said. “Down there.”

At the bottom of the hill seemed to be one of those pointy-stick-two-leg walkers just milling about. Strangely, it was bright yellow—like a flower—and didn’t have a face.

“What is that?”

“I think it’s a pointy-stick-two-leg,” she said.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look right.”

“Sure, but what else could it be?”

A second one was suddenly there as if stepping out from behind something although there was nothing there. It carried a square object with its short upper legs—the way the pointy-sticks do—while the first put bits of grass, flowers, and rocks into the square.

Our tails swished back and forth. Watching the odd things satisfied a certain curiosity, and we lay there for quite a while doing so. At some point, my stomach made a tremendous gurgling sound.

Xena’s ear twitched in my direction, and she snickered.

“I can’t help it. I’m hungry. I’m a growing boy.”

“What to do,” she said, giving me a devious smile.

“Uhm…” I stammered. “I’m not sure that’s…”

But she was already skulking down the hill, body low to the ground.

The first creature lifted a short leg and pointed it in Xena’s direction.

“Oh, great,” I murmured and moved to follow her.

She broke into a run, accelerating. Damn, but she was fast. I had trouble keeping up with my almost full-grown sister.

The creatures panicked—the way prey always does. I nearly laughed as the two things collided with each other. The second one dropped the square it was holding and tripped over it. (Then I did laugh.) The first one sprinted to our left and dove. While still above ground, it vanished as if passing into a hole—in the air—never to reappear.

Xena paused.

I paused. “Where did it—”

But Xena had resumed her line of attack.

The remaining creature got to its walking legs and ran in the same direction as the first. It also dove, but there was no hole in the air for it to disappear into. It seemed to hit something midair, bouncing backward and then crumpling to the ground.

I stopped.

Xena leaped, landing precisely on the creature with its head in her mouth. They rolled and tumbled across the ground. In moments, they stopped. She was laughing and held the creature’s head down with a forepaw. “Whew,” she said, panting. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah! So weird. Like, I don’t see anything there. What did it hit?”

“No, dork. My attack speed.”

“Oh, right. You were like lightning,” I backpedaled.

“Look at this,” she said, striking the creature’s head with her claws. It made a clicking sound. “It’s got a rock or something instead of a head.” She poked at the chest. “And its skin’s loose and slippery. No fur.”

“You still think it’s a pointy-stick?”

“Let’s look inside.”

Holding the creature’s head under one paw, she raked down its torso with the other, ripping away the saggy yellow skin to reveal something squirming beneath.

“Why didn’t it bleed?” I said.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, cringing. “Can you smell that? Definitely a pointy-stick.”

The creature was quite fat around its midsection. My stomach gurgled again.

She laughed at me and sliced open the belly. Glistening fat bulged free of tight skin as blood pulsed from the gash.

“There’s your blood. Come get some of this, hungry boy,” she said.

No need to tell me twice. In two excited leaps, I was there lapping up beige and red.

“It makes a strange noise from its rock head,” she said.

“Umph-hmph,” I replied, my mouth full of deliciousness.

“Hey, kid brother. Want to see how sharp my fangs are now?”

I looked up and swallowed. “Sure.”

She lined her head up, pointed toward the creature’s left shoulder, and put one fang on either side of the short leg.

“Fink I can de-doan its weg in one sfipe?”

“Debone the leg in one swipe?” I asked. “No. I mean, maybe Dad could, but get real.”

I was wrong. In a flash, she flipped her head down toward the creature’s paw, leaving a meat sleeve crumpled up at the end. White bone smeared with red shone in the sun.

“Whoa… You’re so cool.” I meant it.

“Hah. There ya go,” she said, slurping blood and strings of skin off her long teeth.

The prey made an even worse racket and kicked its legs furiously. I placed a forepaw on one of its knees and pressed down to hold it still. I felt a pop under my toes.

I held my other paw up to give Xena a high-five, but then we heard Mom’s voice from up on the hill.

“Kids! Quit playing with your food. We need to meet Father at the tar pit. He wants us to be there to get dibs on some Mastodon shoulder.”

“Ok, mom,” we said in unison.

“Mastodon?” I could feel my tail curling back and forth.

“I know, right? Race ya!”

*****

Within the portal deck of the invisible time-travel craft, the LED lighting was cold, machines hummed, and the air was rank with the smells of panic and horror.

Rick had gotten to his knees after diving back inside, having barely made it to safety before automated systems closed the portal to a valley outside the La Brea tarpits, protecting the chronochaeologists from the attacking beasts. His forehead leaned against the one-way-see-through window, fists overhead feebly pounding on it while he mumbled, “No, no, no…” over and over. His colleague and friend lay mere feet away on the other side.

Jane and Steve openly wept. Jim, who had been scheduled to step out next, shook uncontrollably in his yellow hazmat suit, vomiting into his helmet—again. Most of the scientists simply froze.

They watched the giant Smilodon cubs bound away like excited kittens.