Mooney watched the crowd of tourists circling and swirling around the down town area, staring up at the roof tops as they walked, and bumping into each other like a herd of lemmings. Human behavior was sometimes baffling to him, even though he was mated to one. Marissa was also a witch, so he figured she didn’t count as a real human. Real humans, on the other hand, were strange creatures who ignored their instincts, sometimes to the point of refusing to eat meat. They sometimes embodied the adage “monkey see, monkey do,” sometimes acted like prey animals, and other times like the apex predators they were. The batch wandering around Talbot’s Peak today were kind of acting like booby birds, ripe for the picking but off the menu because they were a protected delicacy.
“Did you see it?” one man said in a loud, awed bray. Mooney glance at him. The man was wearing shorts, despite it being too cold yet for shorts in Montana, white striped athletic socks pulled up to his knees, probably to keep his legs warm because, duh, it was too cold for shorts, and ugly sandals. He was wearing a hoodie, though, so he wasn’t a complete moron. He just looked like one. If he remembered correctly, the residents of Portland dressed like that year round which fit with the whole tourist thing. They saw a lot of tourist activity from Portland and Seattle. He was also standing slack-jawed and pointing at the roof of Rattigan’s Pub.
There, on the roof and smirking at the crowd below, was Ewan the coywolf. Ewan noticed Mooney looking and winked. Then, flat out grinning with his tongue hanging out, Ewan disappeared from sight.
“I wonder where it will turn up next?” a woman said. “It’s been popping up all over town all day,” a man said. “The cops or animal control should really be doing something to help that poor frightened animal!”
Poor frightened animal, my tail, Mooney snorted to himself. He shook his head and went inside Rattigan’s even though the pub wasn’t quite open for the lunch crowd yet.
“Hey, Louie, did you know Ewan’s running around on your roof?” he called loudly once the door was shut. He heard a grunt from the area of the kitchen, so he made his way back behind the bar to the kitchen entrance. Louie was elbow deep in a huge bowl of what would probably become his famous roadkill meatballs. To Mooney’s wolf nose, the concoction already smelled awesome, but once Louie got done baking them over a hickory smoke fire, they would become meaty ambrosia. He made a mental note to bring the mate and pups to Rattigan’s for dinner tonight so he could enjoy some in the form of a meat ball and marinara sub.
“Yeah, he’s been doin’ that all over town this morning,” Louie said, not looking up. “He read some news article online about a coyote in Queens being seen on a roof and decided he just had to try it out himself, bein’ April Fool’s Day an’ all.” Mooney chuckled, not so much at the story, which totally sounded like something Ewan would do, but because Louie’s droll Jersey accent made it sound like he wasn’t sure if he was put out with the coywolf’s antics or amused or both. It was Mooney’s opinion that Louie could make even the lamest joke funny because that’s just the way he talked.
“Hasn’t Officer Tom tried to catch him yet?”
“Nah, Tom’s good people; he ain’t going to stop Ewan’s fun. Besides, the tourists are eatin’ it up.”