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At 11:50 AM Lucky, Snowball, several friends,
and about eight other cats I barely know (but who somehow sensed
the imminent bloodbath) gathered with me under the bushes and
jostled for the best views into my neighbor’s garden.
At precisely midday Killer arrived and
positioned himself in the middle of Brutus’ lawn.
Snowball tittered and almost got us discovered. A few minutes
later the door of the house opened and Brutus came charging out
like a bull who had been seriously insulted about the size of
his horns. Before either Killer or Brutus had the chance to work
out what was going on they were tearing at each other with teeth
and claws. The fighting was fast and furious. There was snarling
and hissing and yelping. As they spun round and round on the
ground lumps of fur flew into the air. On our side of the fence,
fourteen little faces pressed against the woodwork to see this
amazing fight. We hadn’t witnessed anything this exciting since
Mohamed Ali-Cat knocked out Sunny Bright-Eyes Liston two years
ago. By 12:20 PM it was over. Brutus and Killer lay on the grass
- exhausted, aching, bleeding and duped. The fight was a draw
but I was the winner.
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