“Why are you wearing duct tape around your ankles?” Sherwood asked. He only seemed curious, not accusatory. They were sitting at the island in the kitchen, the remnants of breakfast strewn across the counter top. 



     Linda kept reading the Saturday paper and did not raise her head when she answered. “Because of the guy with the tattoo. You know the one, two doors down.”



    “The guy next door taped your ankles with duct tape because . . . ?”



    “No, the guy with the tattoo two doors down. You know the guy.” Linda was often frustrated that Sherwood did not have total access to the inside of her skull.



    “The duct tape ankle . . .? Killer—maybe?”



    “Don’t be ridiculous. The guy who used to stand on his back porch in his underwear shooting at vultures—drunk.” She knew what was coming next. They had been married a long time. “Not drunk vultures, the guy was drunk.”



    At this point in the conversation, Sherwood knew that gentle head nodding was always the best choice.



    “He moved.”



    “The duct tape guy.” Sherwood kept his voice low, trying not to seem to take sides—if there, eventually were sides to take. He was trying to keep his options open.



    “He’s not the duct tape guy—he’s the guy who moved but forgot to take his cats.”



    Sherwood added a frown to the head nodding.



    “The guy who moved and forgot to take his cats, who have moved in under our hedge.” When he looked puzzled, she continued. “The cats—not the guy! Haven’t you noticed the feral horde out there? I got scared when they started to chew holes in the screens. I was afraid they were going to eat me while I slept.”



     “Ummmm, I’m going to bet that the correct answer is yes, I did notice the feral horde.”



    “Yes, the correct answer is yes. They’re hideous creatures and they attack my ankles—hence the duct tape.”



    “Why aren’t they on their way to the pound?”



    “I can’t catch them, so I started to feed them.” Linda looked sheepish. “And it’s working.” She peered down at her duct-taped ankles. “Sort of.”



    “I tell you what; start feeding them out in the road. Pretty soon, kitty cat speed bumps.”



    Linda narrowed her eyes to slits. “Sometimes you can really get on my very first nerve, you know that? Run them over, this is your solution. Why don’t you go catch them?”



    He sighed and said, “All right. I’ll be Steve Irwin. I’ll go round up the savage cat-beasts in the hedge. He’s dead you know? Steve Irwin.”



    “Yea, no duct tape, duh.”