We’re having a leisurely breakfast enjoying the blue skies when I heard this very loud, very aggressive snarling and hissing (my husband, it seems, needs a hearing aid). I rushed outside in the garden only to be almost bowled over by Henry charging inside.
He is dirty, his fur is missing a few strands, his tails is somehow sticky. Otherwise not a scratch on him.
And he is very proud of himself, carrying a piece of red fur in his mouth. This points to the ginger cat living a few houses down the road, sometimes lovingly called by the children there: “Pumuckelchen! Pumuckelchen, komm!”
Henry defended our yard. We do have a guard cat, it seems.