Not Today, Satan

The cat pounced with claws extended upon her unsuspecting human’s bare feet.

‘Ouch!’ the human cried. ‘Not today, Satan!’

The cat’s enlarged pupils shrank, and her excited wiggle stilled. She slunk away.

The next day, she frolicked among the ripped-up pieces of the curtain she’d dragged from the rails when her human scooped her up. ‘Not today, Satan,’ the human said wearily.

The next day, there was another human in the house, shouting and pointing to scratch marks on the walls and threatening to throw the cat and her human out.

The cat snuck up behind the intruder and perked her ears at her human.

The human caught her eyes. ‘Yes, Satan. Today.’

The cat smiled, too widely and with too many teeth, and looked down at the intruder from her full height.

She pounced.