Buford took the bloody rat and through it into a metal waste can and put the lid on tightly. Then he took out his pocket knife and carved a single hash into the nearby fence post. He smiled at Chad, and pet his furry head.
"Good boy, Chad. One down only 99 more to go, Chad. Now get to hunting," Buford said playfully shooing Chad's butt toward the barn.
Ninety-nine to go? thought Chad as he ran toward the barn. He'd never do it. This one rat took at least 45 minutes to catch. There were only 72 hours- if he didn't sleep, maybe he could get 80 rats- but a hundred. No. He could do it. He would do it. He wondered if Buford would really change him back? He had to. Chad gritted his teeth and lowered his head. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the barn. His whiskers tingled at a faint rustling in the straw. His eyes and ears targeted in on the faint noise. He froze. Then he saw movement. He could smell the rotten apple core and here the gnawing. He charged like lightning, and pounced. The sound of the rat's neck breaking was followed by deathly silence. Chad was strangely satisfied. He grabbed the dead rat and ran to Buford.
He dropped the rat and ran back into the barn. He heard a noise in the rafters. He raced up the ladder. The mother rat hissed and tried to protect her brood of ratlings. She fought hard, and Chad's nose was bleeding from her attack, but in the end the cat won. He wanted to scoop up the baby rats and the mother in his hands, but he was a cat with paws. He saw an old sack in the straw, and put the rat and her now dead babies in it, and carried it out to Buford.
Buford had set up a lawn chair next to the trash can within arm's reach of the post. He was drinking a can of beer, and there were five cans left of a six pack next to the chair.
"So you're gift-wrapping them now?" Buford laughed as Chad deposited the bloody sack at his feet. He leaned over and opened it. He smiled and he frowned. "Well, a mother rat and her eight babies. Now I'm not sure if that should count as nine rats, do you?"
Chad mewled in indignation. Buford laughed heartily. "Okay, Chad, I hash mark for the mother and four for the eight babies."
Chad stood on all fours and glared at the post with only 7 hashes out 100. Then he arched his back, and hissed. Buford's boot sent him flying.
"Do that again, and it's the pound for you, Mr. All-Star Kitty!" shouted Buford, "Now turn that anger on the rats and mice!"
Chad snarled as he galloped toward the barn. His fury would soon be unleashed on the hapless rodents living there.