Tiger, Tiger!

Clancy, my grey-furred devil cat, lay in the sun showing his belly to all. He was acting innocent, but the half-closed eyes were an invitation to a clawing.
Provocative. Inviting a rub or a pat, but only for those with reflexes fast enough to dart to safety before he drew blood. It was one of his favorite games.
We were having the first extensive cookout of summer, and Clancy, having escaped the room I had locked him in now reclined on the top of a bright red car. Appropriate. Most of the guests knew Clancy and would not be lured in. Soft grey belly fur or not. But here comes my friend Tom. He is Clancy’s favorite source of O Negative blood ( other than me). Tom has already had several beers.
Knowing that Tom is good for the challenge, the grey menace drops the pretense of sleep, stretches, and yawns. Slowly the left paw pats Tom’s hand, claws in. If you know the signs, you’ll see just the slightest tightening of the belly muscles. Then the rapid wind up. The snap and Clancy scores!
Clancy sits up slowly. Carefully licks the blood off his paw, and jumps to the next car. Tom is clutching his bleeding hand. ” See you later for a rematch, Clancy?”

Some people never learn.

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