Betting on a Cat Fight

         Caryl walked into a building. Pieces of the metal walls flapped from the storm outside. The cat he held tried to climb its way up his chest jumped off Caryl’s shoulder, but Caryl held on. He brought his cat over to a half bent ping pong table. Falling down its inverted side was string which poured a rubber plug with a small hole in it.
         “Take your places,” said the gamekeeper, “Who can run out the string the fastest?”
         Caryl walked over and handed his two one hundred dollar bills. The gamekeeper made a few tick-marks.
         “Name?” he said.
         “Caryl.”
         He snickered.
         “Number four at the end. Good luck.”
         Caryl returned to the table. This was the bottom of the barrel, the last place that would take his bet. He must win. His cat was inside a plastic enclosure with a black opaque ceiling which focused its eyes on the string that would descend shortly. From the back of its cage Caryl saw its tail jerking slowly from side to side as if a weight were tied to the end of it.
         The string began to descend. Slow at first, and Caryl cheered.
         “Come on, come on then,” he said.
         He banged his ticket hand’s fist against the table, his teeth looked like they would explode out of his mouth. The string now halfway down the green plywood, and his cat began to reach for it lazily just like his tail moved before.
         Caryl stomped pounding the table, dropped his ticket, and freed his cat from its bond. Its fur was missing, and he had a cut in its ear almost healed. Caryl had never noticed. He picked up his cat, and walked out allowing it to climb up and sit around his neck like a warm purring scarf.