It's a summer night in the 'burbs.
A warm breeze.
Dogs, barking.
A siren.
Then more sirens, followed by more sirens and a police helicopter.
Floodlights.
Red and blue lights flash — radio squawking. A uniformed officer is on his feet. The cul-de-sac is blocked by a black-and-white.
Neighbors call each other. "What's going on?"
Helicopter circling.
The officer walks the street, shining a light into the darker corners of the front yard landscapes.
He stops.
Another black-and-white appears from the shadows, strutting across the lawn in its summer lion cut, an embarrassing poof at the end of its tail. Its body language says, "HEY, THIS IS MY YARD!"
The officer reacts to a squawk on his radio, hurries back to his cruiser, and drives off.
Helicopter follows.
A warm breeze.
Dogs, barking.
All the black-and-whites have left the neighborhood except one.
And now it wants something to eat. And a nap. Happy that it’s done its job.