Flash Fiction- The Oak Showdown

514 Words- my first flash fiction, based on the picture below!

Chitter-chatter-chit-chit

Buddy lifts his head from his paws. Licking his lips, he feels his two remaining teeth under his tongue. Today is mine. His tail flicks. He lowers himself off of the soft chair onto the patio bricks. Sauntering between the spider fern and the firepit, he steps into the yard proper.

The Son had moved the bird feeder to the other side of the oak tree yesterday.

Chit-chat-cheet

Buddy's prey is taking an interest. His nemesis does not see him. The squirrel digs at the ground, even though the birds have left plenty of seed within the grass. It is a compulsion for them to explore. Buddy shared that personality with his enemy. Though, generations of conflict have trained him not to give mercy. Like one of The Mom's paintbrushes, a bushy tail curls over the squirrel's back. A protective umbrella- from the sun, from a shedding oak branch... from Buddy himself?

Whiskers twitch to the beat of his heart. Buddy cannot stop the chirping noises from exploding out of his throat. Cat-pouch jiggling against the grass, he lowers himself into a crouch.

The squirrel turns, tail lashing the air. He drops his pile of seeds. With a high voice, he declares, "This yard ain't big enough for me and you and my brothers and sisters and mama and papa and uncles and aunties-"

Buddy's head spins with the mess of words. So many squirrels. Why was it so hard to catch one? He hisses. "Quiet!" His ears, folded over the sides of his head since birth, flatten completely.

The squirrel is young. Smaller and less meaty than the others. Faster. Cocky. Without looking at Buddy, it reaches for a seed off the ground, chews it, and spits it out.

"You gone make a fool of yourself in front of my family," the squirrel says. It cocks its head to Buddy's right, "And yours."

Buddy peers over and groans. "Leave me alone," he whispers as if The Son and The Mom can hear him. They're already laughing. "Let me hunt."

Buddy returns his gaze to the squirrel and opens his mouth, appalled. It has ignored him and returned to digging for available seeds. Growling, he lays on his stomach. I will wait, he thinks. He must face me and run. Mercilessness does not mean having a lack of honor.

Time moves slowly as an inchworm on balmy days. Munch, munch, munch, goes the squirrel. Ants crawl in the fur between Buddy's toes, but he ignores them. The wind carries the reek of dog poop and squirrel fur to him.

For a flash, the squirrel turns to him again. "I'm doing my nutty things," it mutters to Buddy. "Not paying attention to you at all... Why isn't there any corn in this seed bag?"

Buddy claws at the dirt and scoots forward with his hind feet. The squirrel is facing me enough.

Suddenly, the patio door opens. "Shoo, shoo, shoo," the Grandmother says. She waves her arms at the squirrel.

It bolts up the tree, more scared of her than of Buddy.

Buddy looks at the squirrel clinging up the tree. "I had him!"