Deep into a dream-riddled night, ripped the yodel of our ancient cat, Purna, signaling danger. I sniffed the air for smoke, listened hard for children, but found only his wild cat-keening from outside, below, close by. I peered out into the spring garden, and there he was: his coat patchy in the chalky moonlight, his body swelled to enormous size in the middle of a raised bed, staring at a slim, silent coyote. I yanked open the window and screamed; the coyote, robbed of victory, gave me one quick look, then trotted off beyond the moon’s reach, into the night.
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