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. Clancy had perfected a ploy. Lie in place for a long period of time with almost the stillness of an unmoving glacier, and eventually, some fool would attempt to pat the belly. That belly was 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 living in an old converted mansion in a somewhat decayed Philadelphia neighborhood. The building was not quite a “pit“, but it was far from elegant. It’s one remaining grace? The enormous back lawn that led to the old coach house in the back. The perfect place to party.

Party Hearty!

During the warm months partying oustide on the lawn was a regular weekend activity. That evening 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 reaches out, inch by inch, drawing closer to the arm. He 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.