Sometimes you meet your match

The creature I saw prowling around on my front porch last Tuesday afternoon was, without a shadow of a doubt, a hideous Chupacabra. 

Yes! I said Chupacabra. All seven-feet tall of it, by my estimation. With teeth as sharp as knife points (its mouth was clenched tight, but I could imagine them) And his breath smelling like the putrid trash I forgot to toss out Thursday – or maybe it WAS the trash. It was hard to tell. The vile creature was outside on the porch. I was inside the kitchen washing dishes. It was only a whiff. 

Proof you require? Proof you demand? There’s the photograph I took of the beast in my front yard as it was skulking away into the late afternoon shadows. I took it on my little cellphone through the dirty kitchen window. I had to zoom in, which affected the quality, but I swear it was just as clear as any photograph of Big Foot I’ve ever seen, and NOBODY doubts Big Foot.

A revolting, horrendous, odious Chupacabra on my porch! And the only reason I can invent for why it crept away like it did was because of my cats: 

Porch Cat, the Intimidating Tabby, who meets danger head on; Sevvy, the Cunning Calico, who sneaks around looking for vulnerabilities; and Toby, the Zen Master Siamese, who uses his lightning speed only as a last resort.  Three of them – paw to paw and fang to fang in solidarity against the monster. 

First, the Chupacabra lunged at Porch Cat’s jugular, assuming if it took out the biggest cat, the other two would shrink away in fear. But no. Sevvy, who was lying in wait for just the right moment, bit down hard on the very tip of the mutant’s tail, and ripped it clean off. Toby, who had been in deep Zen meditation and observing the whole bruhaha with his eyes closed, attacked with a half-crescent kick to the monster’s left eye ball – which forced the Chupacabra to make a hasty retreat and think twice about his devious plan of total domination of my porch. THE CAT’S porch!

To say I was shaking at the audacity of the beast and the fearlessness of The Cats would be something very easy for me to say. But, when I showed a local veterinarian the photograph of the deadly fiend in my front yard, she was not impressed. Where I was imagining winning a Pulitzer Prize for the first verified authentic image of a living Chupacabra seen in my front yard, she was indifferent (“Yep. Chupacabra. Coyote with mange. That’ll be $35.”) to say the least.

A coyote? With mange? What exactly is mange?  “MANGE: a skin disease that affects mammals caused by microscopic mites that burrow into the skin.”

Oh, how horrible. How atrocious. How dreadful, frightful and alarming. But…I don’t think that accounts for the creature’s rat-like tail, steely eyes, or its hideous cackle I pert near heard as it disappeared into the shadows.

Nope, it was a bona fide Chupacabra. A Chupacabra looking for an easy-to-acquire feast. But not today, bucko. There are no goats on my porch. Say hello to The Cats!