Shotgun Annie
Annie’s German Shepard was loudly barking from outside, and when she went to the back door and looked out Killer was jumping against a tree truck and yelping at a distressed cat yowling somewhere in the tree. “Killer, shut up!” Annie shouted, leaning out the door as if he’d listen. “Come!” When he kept barking she put on a winter coat, slipped into snow boots and grabbed her shotgun. Outside it was snowing and the bitter wind blew off her hood. As she trudged through the knee-high snow she slung her gun over her shoulder and called him nasty names. She swore she’d kill him. Last month the cops came and rounded up Killer chasing a tomcat though the neighborhood. For that she got a hefty fine, and the dog was taken away to be quarantined and tested for rabies. Now he was back home and disturbing the peace again. By God, if the cops didn’t end up shooting him, she would. He was becoming a real pain in the ass and if she got ahold of him she’d kick his sorry ass and lock him in the old unheated coal bin with no window.
As Annie got closer she tried to sweet talk him, but hell no, Killer wasn’t falling for that and instead of being a good boy the sonofabitch ran off and jumped the fence. Furious with him she sat on a nearby bench under the snow-covered tree and felt defeated. Far off in the distance she heard Killer faintly barking, most likely chasing another damn cat. This infuriated her more, and for the first time she seriously thought about getting rid of him, but the bitter wind was blowing against her back and all she could think about was making it back across the yard before she froze to death.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t leave. From somewhere in the tree, the cat was furiously meowing, and when she looked up it was the same damn tomcat that cost her money. She ought to ring his neck like a chicken and toss him in the trash, but when the scroungy mutt jumped from a tree branch and landed on her lap she couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. With no tail and one ear missing she slid her palm over its matted hair. She didn’t much like cats, but this one was pitifully skinny. Its ribs were showing and by the looks of its bloody paws they were frost bitten. She didn’t know what to do with it so she set it on the ground with hopes it would run off and jump the fence, but instead it rubbed up against her legs. She tried to push it away with a foot, but he just kept coming back for more. Now he was wrapping his front legs around her ankles and playfully kicking her with his back paws, and all she could do was watch him with disdain.
Perhaps she should put a bullet through its head and put it out of its misery. It wouldn’t be the first time she put down an animal. When she was growing up on her parents’ farm she shot the family horse with a broken leg and blasted a fox sneaking into the chicken house. So, shooting this starving cat would be no big deal. She’d just toss the lifeless carcass over the fence for Killer to find. He’d either sniff it or eat it, and either way it would no longer be her problem.
When the tomcat wondered off across the yard Annie got up. Leaning against the wind, she again slung her gun over a shoulder and followed her recent path drifting with snow. Shuffling along at slow pace she watched Tomboy bouncing through the snow drifts with ease, and when it came up beside her she gently swung the gun at it. Instead of running off it playfully ran ahead, not going far, but just far enough to look back at her.
As she opened the back door the cat darted into the kitchen. She didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did, and now that it was in the house she’d have to find a way to get rid of it. She had rat poison stored in a basement cupboard, and as she poured milk into a bowl she heard Killer yapping from somewhere outside, but she ignored him and watched the cat hungrily lapping up the milk. She knew there was no way the two of them could ever get along, but for the life of her she couldn’t decide which one she’d knock off. She remembered how terrible it felt to shoot a tame horse and kill a wild fox, so she hung the gun above the fireplace and took a seat beside the fire. Tired she fell asleep and when she awoke the dog was sleeping beside the fire and the cat was curled up on her lap.
“Mam,” a man’s voice came from the kitchen doorway. “When I let your dog in because of the barking that mangy tomcat was eating something on the kitchen cabinet and when I pushed him off he ran to you as if you’d save him. I don’t normally get in anyone’s business, but that stray tomcat has been cattin’ around this neighborhood since I don’t know when, and if you wish I’ll put the bastardly mutt out of his misery. He’s skin and bones and by the looks of his scroungy coat and infected paws he ain’t worth savin’.”
As the cat purred loudly and licked its sore paws Annie turned her attention to the old man. She didn’t much like anyone trespassing or coming into her house without knocking, and when she eyeballed him she thought he’d be better off dead than alive. He was skinny as a rail, unsteady on his feet and hadn’t shaved for God knows how long. “Could you get down my shotgun from above the mantel?” She asked, petting Tomboy. “If I can shoot a broken-down horse and hungry fox, I can shoot anything.”