Cougar's Revenge

Bradley clambered nimbly up the side of the cliff to the top where his brother Stan perched. Lately Stan had taken to standing sentinel on this and other lofty crags. Alert, Bradley guessed, for signs of his unwanted paramour.

Sure enough, Stan jumped when Brad appeared too suddenly from around a jut of rock, and made no attempt to hide his guilty look. Brad settled himself on a thin strip of ledge. Too winded to shift, and with Stan too nervous, they spoke in mountain goat.

(“So how’s your love life, bro?”)

(“Get bent. She’s out there. I can feel her.”)

(“You already did. Isn’t that how all this started?”)

(“I will butt you right off the top of this cliff, I swear.”)

(“Dude, relax. Mrs. Wembly’s not even in the area. I saw her drive into town.”) Stan’s breath left him in a bleat. (“Man, you have got to resolve this, pronto. You’re shedding. Look.”)

(“I know.”) Stan sat and let his horned head droop. (“I never thought I’d say this, but … I feel guilty about the whole thing. It was supposed to be the end of the world. I thought I’d do her a favor. Go out with a bang, so to speak. How was I supposed to know she’d take it so personally?”)

(“Or that the world wouldn’t end.”)

(“That too.”) Stan looked thoughtful. (“I should do something for her. Like get her a jaguar or something. Jaguars appreciate experience. They’re not that good with cubs, either, so her being past breeding age is an extra plus. Where can we find a big male jaguar who isn’t too picky?”)

(“Dude. She doesn’t want a jaguar. She wants you. She wants a piece of that billy goat action.”)

(“Don’t rub it in. What do I do, Brad? Widows eat their mates. That’s why they’re widows.”)

(“That’s insects, dude.”)

(“And cougars, I mean pumas. Especially if their last mate was a herbie. What am I going to do?”)

(“Hey! I think I’ve got it. We can get you off the hook and do nice things for Widow Wembly’s rep to boot. You with me?”)

(“Hell yeah. I can’t hang out on top of cliffs for the rest of my life.”)

(“Good. Now: we need a car. You did finally pay off your insurance, right?”)

# # #

Eula Wembly wasn’t hard to find. Her Army-green pickup truck was parked in front of the shopette at the edge of town. Brad and Stan peered in through the store’s display windows to verify her presence, then went into their act.

“You had your chance,” Brad loudly announced as he stormed through the sliding doors. “A lady of her quality deserves a real man.”

“Like you, I take it?”

“Yes. Like me.” Brad marched right up to where Mrs. Wembly stood by the paper towels with a plastic shopping basket on her arm. He took the hand not holding the basket and bowed over it. “Mrs. Wembly. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?”

She narrowed puma-golden eyes at him. “Excuse me, young man. Do I know you? Oh.”

She’d spotted Stan. He smiled weakly and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Wembly. How’s it going?”

“Back off,” Brad warned. He added a maahhh that sounded threatening. In reality it was Stan’s cue.

(“Oh yeah”), Stan maahhed back. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest and shook his head as if it bore horns. “Forget it, bro. I’ve got a prior claim. Isn’t that right, Mrs.—er, Eula?”

“Boys, please,” Mrs. Wembly fluted. “There’s no need to fight over me.”

By now they’d drawn a crowd. Even the bunnies industriously shoplifting in produce paused to watch. Ignoring her protests, Brad eased Mrs. Wembly aside and squared off against his brother. They wouldn’t actually fight, of course. He fully expected the store manager to escort them outside before words gave way to head-butts. By then the whole store would have seen two studly young goats competing for the amorous attentions of the older cat. She’d have more dates than she’d know what to do with. Enough to keep her from hunting down Stan.

“Seriously,” Mrs. Wembly said. Her voice was now a cougar’s clawed snarl. “There’s no need.”

The goat boys turned to her as one. “There’s not?” Brad said. Oh cripes, what if she wants a threesome?

“No, there’s not.” Mrs. Wembly stepped around Brad and patted Stan on the cheek. “You’re a sweet boy, dear, but not my type. Neither is your—brother? Yes, brother. You’ve got the same slack-jawed stare. It was a one-time thing. I’m sorry if you read more into it.”

“Uh?” Stan said.

“But the hunting,” Brad said. “The screams in the woods and stuff.”

“You thought that was for you? Oh dear.” She showed them the large bottle of prune juice in her basket. “As one gets older, digestion gets trickier. Blockage, you know. No, you wouldn’t know. Most of your diet is roughage. Mine is red meat. Occasionally it leads to problems.”

“You didn’t say no,” Stan blurted defiantly.

“Well, of course not, honey. I’m a predator. No cat turns up her nose at an easy kill. As for any future … ” She leaned in close and said to Stan in a whisper loud enough for the whole store to hear, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you just weren’t that good.”

# # #

“Get away from me,” Stan blasted. “Don’t you say one word to me. Not one friggin’ word.”

“But—”

“Not. One. Word.” Stan threw himself into his car and roared off, leaving Brad stranded in the shopette’s parking lot. Brad turned toward the store. Every face pressed up against the display windows quickly drew back. All but Mrs. Wembly’s. She exited the store and, without a glance his way, climbed serenely into her truck and drove away at just under the speed limit.

Brad bleated an obscene word in goat. “I wish the world would end,” he muttered, “because right now it sucks.”

Drat Those Lying Mayans!

Two goats sprawled on a flat rock high atop a mountain overlooking a tree-blanketed valley. They chewed spindly grass and watched the sun go down. As the last ray faded from the sky, one of the goats went, “Maaahhhhh.”

This, translated from the mountain goat, means “shit.”

The other goat shifted. Still chewing, he asked his companion, “What’s up with you?”

The first goat swallowed and shifted. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared morosely at the spot where the sun had disappeared. “The world never ended. We’re still here.”

“I told you not to believe that Mayan prophesy. When have they ever been right about anything? Let me guess: you didn’t bother to pay your car insurance.” He shook his head. “Jeez, Stan. You didn’t really think the world would end, did you?”

“Well, I was kind of hoping, after … ” Stan trailed off.

After years of observing Stan’s many evasive maneuvers, Bradley had his shorter-horned brother pretty neatly pegged. “After what? What did you do?”

“Uh … ”

“Is it worse than car insurance? Do you need bail money?”

“It’s nothing like that. You know that Mrs. Wembly, the widow down in the valley?”

“The cougar?”

“She prefers puma. Well, everybody swore up and down the world was going into the toilet, so—”

“Dude. You didn’t.”

“Why not? It’s not like I expected to ever see her again. And she’s got experience, y’know? It could have been my last time ever. I didn’t want it ending up a fumble fest.”

“Dude! She’s old enough to be our mom!”

“She’s not that old. Sure, she’s no spring kid, but jeez. It’s not like I could’ve knocked her up. Anyway, she’s the one who agreed to it. I didn’t force her to. The hard part was trying to leave. She kept clawing at me."

“Dude!”

“Yeah? So what did you do for your last day on earth?”

“Not much. Went down to Talbot’s Peak and wandered around town. Sat on a bench in the park. Ate a hot dog. What? I wanted to see what meat tasted like. Assuming there’s any real meat in a hot dog.”

“Couldn’t land any real action, huh?”

“I wasn’t looking for ‘any real action.’ I never believed the world would end.”

“Which is why you ate a hot dog. Right.”

Somewhere below, an owl hooted. From out of the dark rose the scream of a hunting cat. A large, tremendously frustrated cat.

Stan leaped to his feet. Bradley snickered. “Nervous?”

“No! I’m just, you know, it’s getting dark and all. Too hard to see the trail. We should head back.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Mrs. Wembly will give up trying to find you eventually.”

“One more word, Brad, and the world will end for you. I guarantee it.”

Alternative Lifestyles

(I kind of hit the wall this week, so you get what you get.)

“Oh jeez. Ted, is that you?”

“Hey, Stu. What are you doing up here?”

“Looking for you. So that’s what happened to the goat hide. Conrad said it was missing from the lodge. Dog, if you want to sniff goat, they’ve got colognes for that. Or candles. My girlfriend has this incense burner—”

“You don’t get it, Stu. This is me, the real me, as I really am. This is what I was meant to be.”

“Naked and wrapped in a goat hide?”

“A goat, Stu. I’ve always known it. I’m a goat trapped in a wolf’s body.”

“Scat, not this again. You found that human’s still, didn’t you?”

“I was born a goat. My sign is Capricorn. It’s fate.”

“It’s you being a complete and total asshat. Tell me you’re hunting that herd over there and not really trying to join them.”

“They won’t let me get too close. We’re just getting used to each other. Yeah, okay, I’m kind of stalking that straggler there. I figured out I can’t go goat all at once. I kind of have to ease into it. They say if you eat an animal you take on its characteristics.”

“Then you must have had squirrel for breakfast, because you’re nuts.”

“No, I had a groundhog. Look, he’s been falling behind the herd all day. I figure I’ll put him out of his misery, spend a couple days absorbing his goatiness, and by Thursday—”

“Uh, Ted? Your goat’s got a rifle.”

“Wha?”

“Okay, you, hold it right there. What the hell? Are you wearing a goat suit too?”

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I just wanted to get close to the herd.”

“Yeah, me too. Hunting season starts next week. I wanted to scout the territory and learn their habits. I know this looks a little nutty, but it used to work for the Indians. Are you two hunters? You from around here?”

“Oh, yeah. Us and our pack—that is, our lodge, we hunt up here all the time. Ted, keep your mouth shut. He’s a human.”

“So eating him’s out of the question?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. Look, man, it’ll be getting dark soon. These cliffs can be treacherous to run around on in the dark. I came up here after my brother. We can’t leave you out here by yourself. Why not come on back to the lodge with us? We’ll have a couple of brewskies and I’ll tell you where the best game is.”

“Well … I don’t know … ”

“Me either, Stu. What’s up with you?”

“The pack’s what’s up. They’re out here and they found your trail. How bad do you really want to be a goat, Ted?”

“Um … not that bad.”

“I didn’t think so. Now imagine if they found some monkey in a goat suit with a rifle traipsing around on our turf. What do you think would happen?”

“Hancock would hand us our tails for breakfast?”

“Dipped in maple syrup. So what about it, mister? What do you say?”

“Beer sounds good. This thing’s damn heavy and it smells like shit. I don’t know what I was thinking. What was that? Are those wolves?”

“No. No wolves, not around here. It’s dogs or hippies or something. C’mon, we better shag it if we want to get off this mountain before it gets dark. Ted, just leave that here. I’ll tell Conrad the puppies tore it up.”

“Thanks, bro. I love you, dog.”

“You hump my leg and I’ll rip your throat out. Hey, mister, you want to keep that gun pointed somewhere else? Yeah, that’s better. Don’t worry about all that howling. It’s dogs or whatever. They do it all the time.”

# # #

Up on the cliff face, two bearded mountain goats watched the werewolf and the two in the goatskins depart. The howls had veered off in another direction, so the pack posed no threat for the moment. The one billy turned to the other and went, “Baaahhhhhh.”

Translation: That’s it. We’re ordering grenades.