"Bosh! You'd run from a pet canary."
"You're a liar!"
"You're another!"
"So's yer pa an' so's yer mother!"
"Pfst! Zzz-i-ttt! Y-eo-w!"
And the battle was on.
"Oh, dear!" mewed Lizzie tearfully. "An' Mr. Bo was sech a easy-mannered gent'man, too!"
Sub-consciously, she was already referring to the foolish Persian in the past tense; yet, in view of probable results, and in the stress of such violent circumstance, her anti-mortem sorrow might at least be pardoned.
Omar Ben had never had a fight, and yet the memory of inheritance had waked within him, revealing other traits besides his yearning for debauchery and "frawgs"; so now he squared himself and uncurled his velvet toes.
Ash-Can Sam crouched low and came in with a headlong rush. Omar Ben side-stepped and raked him with a stiffly extended paw. It was a good rake, and there was fur upon his claws—and blood.