I loop around the house, gathering the breeze and the smell of pine.
I know I’m being followed.
There’s no sound, no footsteps to count, or breathing to detect.
In all intents and purposes, I’m solitarily trolling with my hands in my pockets.
I turn the corner and hide.
Waiting takes too long, so I look, but find I’m alone.
Mmmm, I thought for sure.
Continuing on, my steps crunch twigs and barely-breathing-again grass.
Tiny pine cones litter the ground, and deer droppings
accent in occasional clumps of black.
A big tree looms. I sweep around with ease.
I’m shocked to see my follower sitting before me, looking at me.
“I knew you were hunting me,” I say.
He’s dense and furry. Green eyes follow my progress toward him.
He lets out a meow that’s made for a much smaller cat
and flops onto his side for me to scratch his belly.
And here I thought I was in danger. Silly me.
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