Then . . .
He sniffed.
That’s it—he just sniffed.
The beast’s nostrils were so wide, his sniff made the hair stand out on Tom’s side. If Tom hadn’t flipped his tail in the other direction, it would have been sucked into the powerful wind tunnel of the monster’s nose.
Tom, feeling something, twitched and gave a little shudder. The monster sniffed again. More hair stood out on Tom’s side.
Irritated, he glanced over his shoulder.
• • •
I’ve never heard a cat scream.
I’ve heard cats meow, snarl, hiss, spit, howl, and yowl. But I’ve never heard a cat scream.
• • •
Tom screamed. The instant he saw the colossal monster, his eyes popped wide and he screamed. He screamed when he saw him. He screamed when he spun and raced toward the tree. He screamed as he passed the branch where I sat, frozen and watching the entire scene. He never stopped screaming—not even after he raced to the top of the tree and hung, dangling by one paw, from a tiny branch at the very tip.
The little limb was barely big enough to hold the single pecan that grew at its end. Still, Tom managed to hang on to the thing as it bent, almost double, beneath his weight.
The monster’s mouth flopped open. (Guess he’d never heard a cat scream, either.) His ears arched up. His brow scrunched down. His head tilted to the side and he sat on his stubby tail.
I raced to the top of the tree to help my friend. It took a lot of talking and pleading to get Tom to let go of his limb and climb to join me on a bigger, more sturdy one. It took a lot more time before his fur began to smooth. For a while, Tom was more than twice as big as Tom. I never saw anybody puff up like that. Even after he began to calm down, there was still a ridge of hair from his shoulders to his tail that stood on end and wouldn’t relax.
“What was it?” he gasped, finally.
“Don’t know. I never saw anything like it.”