We don’t know what happened. My S.O. was in bed in the M.B.R in the house’s rear and I was in the snug at the front when I heard her open the door and hurry out. She was talking but I couldn’t discern anything coherent. Knowing her, though, I followed.

She’d put on the back porch light. Growling and yowling, Meep was on the patio. He was holding up one paw. As we approached him, he put the paw down and tried to walk. That paw wouldn’t support.

From the forensics and investigation available – mostly the presence of Boo and the noises my wife heard – Meep and Boo fought, as they do too many times. Boo is bigger, older and a little damaged, but Meep is bold, spirited, and young ginger. He’d clearly been on the losing end.

We created a circle of peace around him so he could relax and calm down. My wife went back in while I, armed with a squirt gun to keep Boo and Quinn back, stood by Meep, talking in comforting tones. After about fifteen minutes, he’d relaxed sufficiently to lay down and wash the injured limb. I saw no blood. He seemed to be moving it normally. Again, though, he attempted to walk but limped.

Waiting longer, I saw an opportunity, picked him up and carried him into the house. After setting him down, I did a brief but closer examination. He was already walking around close to normal. I offered him food, and he ate with gusto.

The decision was arrived to keep him in the house in isolation for the night. He limped a little this morning but jumped around well. The thing is, cats are so good at masking their injuries and weaknesses and coping, they can fool you. So we continued keeping him in. What happened, exactly? We don’t know. We can speculate. We did. I wished once again that the cats all had cat cams mounted on them, or a drone was in orbit overhead, recording what happened. We don’t have those, so we remain frustrated by the unknown, and its results.

Funny, but that’s a good blurb for the novel in editing, “Incomplete States.”