With deliberate noise, I walked to the kitchen and opened the pantry door.  I reached inside and grabbed a bag of treats, making sure to rattle them as I drew them forth and prepared mentally for the feast that was sure to follow.  Already I could hear the fast approach of tiny feline paws, the sound of leaping to the floor from various perches throughout the house, and the rapid jaunts from locations near and far.

Kako was the first to call out to me, but that’s actually quite normal.  She’s a vocal gal, certainly not one to hide how she’s feeling, and in fact I have long believed that she loves to hear the sound of her own voice.  Her darting feline grace carried her swiftly into the kitchen.  The entire journey was marked with the desirous inquiries.  “Yes, Daddy, we’d love a treat.  Are those for me?  Why not toss me a few now before the others get here?”

With the treat bag firmly in hand, I turned toward the living room to make my way there.  At the kitchen’s entrance sat Kazon looking quite unawake yet determined to get his share.  His eyes were only half-open as he looked at me with affection mixed with primitive want.  “You’re not even awake yet,” I declared as I walked in his direction.  His eyes never left me, although they were now beginning to open more widely, perhaps the sudden wakefulness one achieves when it is required to get something we desperately want.

Grendel sauntered into the living room as I left the kitchen and headed in his direction.  He, too, had only just gotten out of bed, but he certainly looked more awake than Kazon had when he first appeared.  I reached down absently and scratched Grendel’s head as I passed him.  Only a few steps further and I was there: in the place for a feeding frenzy.

I called out to Loki as he still had not joined us.  There in the bedroom at the end of the bed, I could see him watching me intently.  You see, he won’t get up until he knows the party has started.  Smart cat.  I called to him again and shook the bag intently to let him know we were indeed going to satiate desires of the tummy.  Well, they were anyway.  He leaped quickly to the floor and walked into the living room to the position where I now stood.

With the whole audience now in place, I sat on the floor with the bag of Feline Greenies.  The Kids love them, including Loki who is the most finicky of cats (so much so that he doesn’t like salmon!).  Since discovering Greenies only a month ago, they’ve quickly become one of their favorite treats.  Unlike tuna, chicken or other “people foods” that they get, these are treats they can have at will without a lot of preparatory drama and follow-up mess.

Kako and Kazon even go so far as to eat them out of my hand.  Grendel and Loki will often eat chicken or fish or other such foods directly from my hands but not Greenies.  Perhaps I mean not yet, but thus far I’ve had no luck with that.

I got into a comfortable kneeling position with the bag of Greenies resting between my legs.  I’ve learned quickly that the bag requires protection if it’s going to survive from one treat session to the next.  There was an unfortunate incident a few weeks ago that required me to put a full bag of Greenies into a Ziploc bag due to irreparable damage to the original container, damage caused by hungry little teeth.  I now know better than to leave the bag accessible to them.

You see, Kazon is a relentless pig.  Anyone observing his treat eating habits would think he was starved as a child and throughout adulthood.  Regardless of what the treat is, he’s always desperate for more and will gladly fight to get some.  If it’s an open plate of something (such as what you see here), Kazon will be the last one to leave the plate and the first to return.  Derek and I laughed constantly when this happened, as Kazon will sometimes look like he’s simply eaten too much and is going to be sick because of it.  The thought I have is that he’s certain this will be the last treat they’ll ever get, so he has to get his fill now and consume as much as possible as he’ll never again see this kind of feast.  He was the murderer of the last Greenies bag and the cause for needing to protect it now.

I sat kneeling in the middle of the living room with the bag between my legs.  I pulled out a handful of treats and made a small pile for each of The Kids.  They normally start with three apiece because some eat slower than others do and it can become an ugly competition based on who finishes first.  Limiting the initial allotment helps me keep track of who’s done so that I can give them another piece to keep them occupied while everyone else finishes.  Kako and Kazon always finish first while Grendel and Loki enjoy a more relaxed meal.

The smile on my face was ear to ear while they all four sat and enjoyed the first few pieces.  The silence of treat time always amuses me.  There is much talking just before it’s time to eat, but, like humans, the talking grinds to a halt when the eating begins.

As soon as they finished, both Kazon and Kako immediately began looking for more.  I pulled a few additional pieces out of the bag and gave one to each of them.  In turn (although not patiently), they took them directly from between my fingers as I offered.  Kako is actually quite gentle in this regard.  She wants it and she wants it now, but she also doesn’t want to create a ruckus, knowing as she does that more treats are sure to follow as long as Daddy doesn’t get wounded in the process.  She’s not always mindful of hurting me (and, sometimes, I’m quite sure she takes joy in doing it), yet food alters the dynamics of the situation.

I’m not sure if Kazon, on the other hand, sees the hand as unrelated to the treat.  By that, I mean that he’s not always sure where one ends and the other begins.  He does a respectable job of not removing any appendages only through constant reminders that he must be careful.  Many times, I must gently hold him at bay and tell him to take it easy because all he knows is that there’s something worth biting.

Again, let me reiterate that I’ve never been wounded during this process.  Sure, there’s been a nibble here or there, but nothing that drew blood or caused excessive pain.  The most he has done in the past has been to bite down on my finger with just enough pressure to realize it’s not what he thought it was, the whole while his tongue dances against my finger to get the taste of the thing which quickly tells him it’s not what he thought it was.  There are times when you can see the abysmal disappointment on his face as he releases my finger.

While Kako and Kazon quietly consumed their individual servings, I gave Grendel and Loki another helping as they’d finished what they had.  They gratefully waited for seconds and then happily munched.  I was forced to lovingly chide Kako and Kazon midway through this process because they were attempting to grab some of Grendel’s goodies.  They are a relentless lot.

After ensuring The Boys had their second helping while keeping an arm between them and The Twins, I turned my attention back to the hungry mouths now attempting to infiltrate the protective barrier between them and the bag.  Both Kako and Kazon stood with their front legs propped upon my legs (one to each leg so I couldn’t escape).  Once again, I gave them another Greenie by hand.  Kako again took hers gently and enjoyed it without moving from her perch.  Kazon gulped his as though there were no hope of ever having another.

It was finally time for the last one.  I pulled two more from the bag before slipping it quickly between my legs to ensure its safety.  I realized at this point that a mother bird must feel just as I do with the hungry mouths jutted toward me in eager anticipation of another bite.  Grendel and Loki remained in their places at my side happily crunching away at the last few tidbits.  Kako and Kazon were practically climbing my body looking for just one more.

I held out the treats.  She took hers gently and contentedly ate it without stepping down off my leg.  Kazon took his with eager abandon and practically swallowed it whole.  I took the opportunity to pick up the bag so that I might reseal it.  Perhaps this is where I made my mistake.

Kazon was still standing on my left leg, and this position put his face very near the bag.  My fingers were covered in the smell and flavor of the Greenies.  I could feel the grit on them as I closed the bag.  Kazon was still searching ruthlessly for one more treat, so I put my hand out to him while saying, “No more.  See, they’re all gone.”  He didn’t hesitate whatsoever.  With my hand outstretched and fingers splayed, the bag precariously dangling in the other hand, Kazon reached out and chomped down on my index finger.  The move was so sudden and surprising that I didn’t even flinch.  It only took that one bite and a few licks with his tongue for him to realize there was no treat to be had.  It was too late, though, as the damage was already done.  He released my finger and turned to look at the bag.

Blood began welling up from my finger.  There were two innocuous yet painful holes.  “Ouch!” I yelped.  The bite was very near my fingernail and almost strategically placed to inflict damage on both sides of it.  The pain was sharp and abrupt.  Like lava from a volcano, the blood continued to bubble to the surface, rapidly becoming drops that fell onto my legs below, albeit small drops and certainly not indicators that I was bleeding to death.

“Ouch!” I wailed again.  “That really hurt.”  I looked at Kazon as I said this in the hopes that he would understand I was speaking to him.  In his own special way, he knew I was talking to him; he simply had no idea what the problem was and continued to be more interested in whether or not another treat was to be produced from that magic little bag.  His puppy-dog eyes stared at me in loving adoration mixed with want.

“You hurt me, you know?”  He stared back blankly before glancing at the bag.  His face immediately turned again so that his gaze met mine.  “That hurt, Kazon.  Look, I’m bleeding.”  He leaned up closer to my face and planted a sweet kiss on the end of my nose, followed immediately by a gentle rub of his head against my chin.  What a stupendously strategic maneuver that was.  Even as he turned his attention back to the bag, he knew all was forgiven.

It was a long day at work, made less agreeable by the persistent and draining Texas heat of summer.  When finally I arrived at home, I was already wiped out and sullen, lethargy having taken over my very being as the heat drained what little energy work had not already taken from me.  It was an exercise in pure willpower simply to get up the stairs leading to my front door.  I did eventually make it, dripping with sweat from head to toe and feeling much like I imagine a roasting turkey must feel after its flesh begins to cook in the extreme heat of the oven.  I stood in front of my own door and sighed.  Did I even have the energy to find my keys and let myself in?  I sure hoped so.

After rummaging in my pockets and locating the elusive key, I unlocked the door and stepped inside the glory of air conditioning, rapidly closing the door behind me in the hopes of avoiding more abuse by the heat.  I fell back against the door, sighed yet again — only much louder the second time, and called to The Kids to let them know Daddy was home.  With my eyes closed and unaware of my surroundings, I stood resting against the doorway while I absorbed the cool air and wished it to subjugate the sweat running down my face.

I inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly to bring rest to my weary bones.  I repeated those steps several times.  How tired I felt at that moment.  I was glad to be home for the evening.

Finding the energy necessary to even open my eyes and survey my surroundings, I realized only then that The Kids were not with me.  How unusual.  Normally, once I arrive home, even if only after I call to them, they surround me in welcoming fashion and ensure they each receive a share of the lovin’.  Not this time, though, and I found that curious.  I looked up from the desolate floor under my feet and looked about the house from my perch in the entranceway, glancing around the living room until I finally saw them: all four of them sitting in front of the patio doors looking outward, infrequently glancing back at me with a look that seemed to request something.  What are they up to?

As I stood momentarily in my position just inside the front door, my gaze fell upon each of the cats as they remained practically motionless.  What a curious event.  I watched them closely as they glanced quickly at each other, out the door to the patio, at each other again, down to the floor in front of them, and then back at me, all before repeating the process.

It occurred to me suddenly that prey must be involved.  The Kids knew I’d always be around, but prey was something that was fleeting and to be enjoyed while it was there lest the opportunity be lost forever.  As predators, they were so predictable.

Finding the strength finally to support my own weight, the sweat having disappeared in the company of the interior coolness of home, I was refreshed and feeling human again, less like Thanksgiving dinner baking away for hours.  Standing on my own two feet, I began my journey across the room to where my curiosity might be sated.  The Kids, fully aware of this movement, looked at me suddenly with anticipation and longing.

I moved slowly and deliberately toward them.  If some creature was indeed just on the other side of the patio doors, I dared not frighten it away with an abrupt arrival.  For that reason, my approach was methodical, the entire way marked with my queries to The Kids about what they had.  “What is it?”  “What do you see?”  “What’s outside?”  Their excitement grew in response to my approach and questioning.

Grendel spoke first.  He looked directly at me and squawked in a way that said he wanted something from me, something he was rather eager to get his paws on.

I giggled quietly, hoping not to disrupt them, suddenly realizing this was a hunt and they needed my assistance to get the prey within striking distance.  The smile on my face would certainly betray a father’s joy at seeing his kids demonstrate communal skills and adult behavior.  Sure, I’d seen them all hunt before, but this was a group effort.  Their success to date, however, would not deny appreciation for the help of a parent.

Loki called out to me, shouted at me for attention to his desire for help.  My own entertainment was growing.  The agony of the long day and Texas heat was far behind me, my mind already losing touch with the past memories of fatigue and stress.

Kako stood briefly, her tail snapping back and forth in anticipation and excitement as she too bellowed for immediate intervention in their plight.  She sat back down as suddenly as she had stood, returning to her anticipatory vigil with the others.

They all looked at me eagerly in response to my not so silent chortle.  I obviously had a lot to learn from them about stealth.  This brought the subdued chuckle into full focus resulting in a hearty burst of laughter.  Each of the cats immediately sat more upright, excited by my approach and impulsive joviality.  Oh yes, they want my help.  It seemed so obvious.  They watched me intently, rapidly glancing outside and to me then back again.

Kazon, his eyes dark with the thrill of the hunt, let out a broken, almost pathetic meow ripe with urgency and the childlike need for parental aid.  The smile I wore surely was ear to ear.

When I reached their location I immediately let out a disgusted “What is that!?”  Their distance from the patio door made perfect sense: scattered about between them and the glass were remains.  It was at first not identifiable as any particular creature.  In fact, my first guess would have been a small bug.  There was not much left; this I could tell before I leaned closer in the hopes of identifying the dead interloper.

Is that a leg?  Thoughts ran through my head with frightening clarity and rapidity.  This was once a living creature, but even then I realized there were scarcely a dozen pieces left.  One might have called it carcass remains were there so little of it left to identify.  There, that piece — perhaps part of a wing.  And that one could be a leg.  The one over there could be part of — Oh, yuck!  That’s its head!  This inventory of devastated biological pieces and parts continued for only a moment before all of the victim’s debris was located.

At first, I wouldn’t claim I successfully identified the corpse.  Well, it couldn’t be called a corpse in any stretch of the imagination.  There was so little of it left.  Despite this, visual inspection — sans touching — of what remained made clear to me that it had been a palmetto bug^[1].  A very large palmetto bug if its leg and head size were indicative.  The Kids had certainly been busy.

My heartfelt laughter sprang forth from within me, rising to decibel levels I was not aware I could achieve.  How very entertaining.  The Kids all began to talk and gesture and look in a cacophony of feline joy, pride, need, desire, and anticipation, my immediate presence an apparent invitation for their requests for help.  They glanced down at what was left of the toy bug.  I knew this look well.

“Daddy, we had this toy and it broke.  It wasn’t a good toy at all.  With only a little play its pieces began coming off until finally the whole thing was in shambles.  Can you help?”

I love my kids.  They can be so entertaining.  As predators, however, they can also be merciless, and perhaps I find as much joy in that as I do their friendly and loving demeanor.  It is a dichotomy of the ruthlessness of the hunter versus the love and affection of the companion.  At that moment, I saw both simultaneously.

Imagination in its most raw form could not picture the size of the beast, and that realization I based on only the initial inspection of the few body parts available.  Should its legs and partial head be a clear indication, The Kids had destroyed what might have been someone’s beast of burden, one large enough to be saddled were one to find such a thing worth doing.  My awareness of its enormity — its previous enormity, that is, before it fell victim to a pack of wild felines — gave rise to the immediate concern regarding the whereabouts of the remaining body mass that was not with the carcass debris laying before me.  Somehow, I already knew the answer to the query, and it at least fleetingly made me question the wisdom of letting any of The Kids ever kiss me again.

In my hasty disgust at the carnage, I seemed to have lost sight of the fact that the hunt was not over, that The Kids desperately wanted my help with something that heretofore I had not seen.  Still leaning over to inspect the biological mayhem they were disinterested in, I merely turned my head to look at each of them in turn.  This motion caused them to voice their need for assistance, one by one and in turn.  The incessant meowing rose forth as a sudden chorus.  Again I laughed.  Yes, they want my help with something.  I know those calls.  That’s a request for assistance.

I studied their faces one at a time.  They would look at me, say something, look out the patio door, murmur something under their breath, twitch their tail back and forth in anticipation, then look at me again and more loudly voice their need for my help.  I turned my head slowly and looked out the door to the patio beyond.  There, just on the other side of the door, already hobbled with two noticeable appendages missing and one wing horribly disfigured, was yet another palmetto bug, large, behemoth in fact, and trying desperately to act unaware and disinterested in the sudden death which waited just inside.  I laughed so hard that I was certain the bug would scamper away in fear.  It did not, although I realized it might have been unable to move quickly given its already compromised body and reduced leg count.  The Kids cried to me with overwhelming clarity.

“Daddy, this toy broke.  Can you get that one for us?”

“You should call the manufacturer and ask for a refund, Daddy.  This one was defective and it didn’t stand up to much play.  Still, we’d like that one now.”

“Daddy, do you think you can bring that other toy inside?  We’ve been good and we deserve to play with it, too.”

“This stupid one is broken.  It’s not fun anymore.  Hey, maybe you could get that one out there and give it to us instead.  Please?”

“You should get better playthings for us, Daddy, not these.  They break too easily and don’t last long.”

“These are fun even if they are fragile.  They run fast.  Can we have that one now?”

Yes, a menagerie of questions and entreaties was lobbed at me from all four of them, begging and pleading for an opportunity to play with that poor hobbled insect who somehow escaped the same doom represented in the not so tiny bits of body strewn about in front of the door, pieces that once in a while called for a brief swat or curious touch from one of The Kids hoping to spur it back to life for just one more chase.

This had been no hunt.  It was a massacre.  Somehow two very large — and by the looks of the still living example outside, I would say massive — palmetto bugs had made their way into the house.  With four cats, such a move is never wise or conducive to long life.  One of the interlopers had met with a ghastly end, torn limb from limb, partially chewed and consumed, and ultimately what little was left scattered about in front of the patio door, perhaps as a warning to anything else that might enter: Beware! There be cats here!  The second made its escape, perhaps saved by the sacrifice of its friend, but did not get out of the house before suffering horrible and irreparable injury.

I knelt beside The Kids and stroked them all lovingly, showering upon them kudos for a job well done, for protecting the home from invasion.  I laughed the whole time as their excitement grew in the hopes I would indeed retrieve the second toy from the patio.  I assure you, there was never an intention to bring that thing in the house.  Instead, I went to the kitchen and got treats for them, a congratulation for being such good hunters as well as something to get their minds off of what they really wanted long enough for me to dispatch the monster from the patio and clean up the debris in the living room.  I would never let anyone know of the horrible events that took place in my home that day.  No one should be allowed to fully comprehend the ruthless act of carnivorous ferocity inflicted upon the palmetto community by my not so innocent children.

Notes:
[1] palmetto bug: a colloquialism of the Southern United States referring to a very large cockroach, also called a waterbug.  Because it survives best in moist conditions, the largest examples exist near readily available water sources.  It grows to an average length of 2.0 inches (5.0 centimeters), although they have been measured as long as 3.0 inches (7.6 centimeters).  They fly, yet rarely can they demonstrate successful navigational skills in short distances (they’re clumsy).  Unlike their more common counterparts, cockroaches reaching this size no longer demonstrate fear of light.  They are also naturally armored due to their size and exoskeletal design (the size of their body increases the strength of their exoskeleton, and that advanced durability provides them with natural external reinforcement greater than the average roach).