Belle shrilled, “Stand clear, Chubby!” and swung at him with the poker.
Belle’s intentions were sufficiently forthright and she had the strength and the weapon. But she wasn’t skilled with her weapon, whereas Pete is very skilled with his. He ducked under that roundhouse swipe and hit her four ways, two paws for each of her legs.
Belle screamed and dropped the poker.
I didn’t see much of the rest of it. I was still looking straight ahead and could see most of the living room, but I couldn’t see anything outside that angle because no one told me to look in any other direction. So I followed the rest of it mostly by sound, except once when they doubled back across my cone of vision, two people chasing a cat-then with unbelievable suddenness, two people being chased by a cat. Aside from that one short scene I was aware of the battle by the sounds of crashes, running, shouts, curses, and screams.
But I don’t think they ever laid a glove on him.
The worst thing that happened to me that night was that in Pete’s finest hour, his greatest battle and greatest victory, I not only did not see all the details, but I was totally unable to appreciate any of it. I saw and I heard but I had no feeling about it; at his supreme Moment of Truth I was numb.
I recall it now and conjure up emotion I could not feel then. But it’s not the same thing; I’m forever deprived, like a narcolept on a honeymoon.
The crashes and curses ceased abruptly, and shortly Miles and Belle came back into the living room. Belle said between gasps, “Who left that censorable screen door unhooked?”
“You did. Shut up about it. It’s gone now.” Miles had blood on his face as well as his hands; he dabbed at the fresh scratches on his face and did them no good. At some point he must have tripped and gone down, for his clothes looked it and his coat was split up the back.
“I will like hell shut up. Have you got a gun in the house?”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to shoot that damned cat.” Belle was in even worse shape than Miles; she had more skin where Pete could get at it-legs, bare arms and shoulders. It was clear that she would not be wearing strapless dresses again soon, and unless she got expert attention promptly she was likely to have scars. She looked like a harpy after a no-holds-barred row with her sisters.
Miles said, “Sit down!”
She answered him briefly and, by implication, negatively. “I’m going to kill that cat.”
“Then don’t sit down. Go wash yourself. I’ll help you with iodine and stuff and you can help me. But forget that cat; we’re well rid of it.”
Belle answered rather incoherently, but Miles understood her. “You too,” he answered, “in spades. Look here, Belle, if I did have a gun-I’m not saying that I have-and you went out there and started shooting, whether you got the cat or not you would have the police here inside of ten minutes, snooping around and asking questions. Do you want that with him on our hands?” He jerked a thumb in my direction. “And if you go outside the house tonight without a gun that beast will probably kill you.” He scowled even more deeply. “There ought to be a law against keeping an animal like that. He’s a public danger. Listen to him.”
We could all hear Pete prowling around the house. He was not wailing now; he was voicing his war cry-inviting them to choose weapons and come outside, singly or in bunches.
Belle listened to it and shuddered. Miles said, “Don’t worry; he can’t get in. I not only hooked the screen you left open, I locked the door.”
“I did not leave it open!”
“Have it your own way.” Miles went around checking the window fastenings. Presently Belle left the room and so did he. Sometime while they were gone Pete shut up. I don’t know how long they were gone; time didn’t mean anything to me.
Belle came back first. Her make-up and hairdo were perfect; she had put on a long-sleeved, high-necked dress and had replaced the ruined stockings. Except for Band-Aid strips on her face, the results of battle did not show. Had it not been for the grim look on her phiz I would have considered her, under other circumstances, a delectable sight.