My black cat, Pepe, was shot in the head last night while he was making his regular evening prowls in his quiet Midtown neighborhood. The seven-year-old staggered home with the bullet from the pellet gun lodged above his eye. He'll survive, I hope, but he was not a happy cat.
Why would anyone let a black cat wander the mean streets of Midtown Tucson on Halloween night? The short answer is that I'm a bad pet owner. The longer answer is that I never really believed all those fraidy-cats who told me that black cats have a tendency to meet with foul play on this particular night. Pepe has always gone in and out at will, and I saw no reason to deny him the pleasures of the prowl. Well, now I know, and the two of us are cooking up a special trick for the unknown punk who popped a cap in his head.
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