Catfish strung on lines tied to the dock.

Whiskers wiggling, tails flapping, struggling to get free.

Among them, the grand prize:  the Mammoth Cat

He doesn’t struggle

Just lies in wait

Plotting.

 

Too much sun, too much beer

To even exaggerate the size

But he was like the Loch ness of the Lake.

 

Skin burning, stomachs growling, greeting the next morning with a fog of sobriety

Anticipating a breakfast of fish and eggs

Mammoth Cat was nowhere to be seen.

He had escaped

A

Much

Smarter

Fish.