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
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