The falcon dived down. I leaned against the cold window to watch. I was almost six weeks old and had never seen such a thing.
The falcon’s wings were tucked tightly against its side. It went fast, faster, fastest.
My ears twitched.
Pulling up, the falcon grabbed something off the ground. Then it was beating its wings upward.
It landed on the wide ledge outside the window. It opened its claw.
A mouse tumbled out. Small and gray.
“Meow!” My mouth watered.
I wanted to smell the mouse, but the glass was in the way.
The falcon pounced on the mouse.
That falcon was so wild. So dangerous.
I shuddered and turned away, hackles prickling.
“No,” the Director called. “Snarl at the falcon.”
I wanted to snarl and snap. I knew that would be good acting. I could be a fight cat.
Instead, I stepped backward.
“No,” the Director yelled. “Scratch at the window.”
I wanted to slash and tear. I knew that would be good fighting.
Instead, I sagged and hid my face under my leg.
MamaGrace said quietly, “It’s the fraidy-cat video.” She sat behind the lights. I don’t work unless she’s there.
The Director said, “Hmmm. Maybe.”
MamaGrace said, “Every kitten needs a fraidy cat scene.”