The Predator

I knew where the predator lay. I’d spotted the give-away movement in the shadow of the bush.

It was a short cast, but a difficult one. I flicked the homemade lure to land just beneath the lower branches. I saw the movement as the predator turned.

Hardly daring to breath I tightened the line and gave the lure three sharp tugs. The predator was now definitely interested. I saw it move out of it’s cover, stalking the lure. Two more sharp jerks and it pounced. I was IN!

The line tightened and the rod curved, I slackened the star drag on the multiplier, not daring to put on too much pressure, unless the lure pulled free.

The predator headed back toward the bushes, and I used my thumb to stop the run. I carefully turned the predator’s head and began to gain line.

"LEON! Leave that bloody cat alone’ screamed my wife.

The cat dropped the lure, gave me a blistering, disdainful stare, then stalked nonchalantly back across the lawn, to the shade of the bush.

"Can’t you do something useful, like washing the car?" asked my wife.

God I hate this time of year! It seems ages to June 16th.