Tomasso’s eyes fell to her, he relaxed, body and tail, spitting resentfully.
Quickly emboldened, she came a hand’s breadth nearer him, snapping at the black tip of his nose.
He retreated to his haunches, but directed a swift cuff her way.
To this she responded with hoarse laughter and yells of “To-o-ny!” as if she summoned the canary to witness the encouraging progress of the fight. Then she stalked forward once more.
Tomasso wrinkled his face. Their positions were unpleasantly reversed. In Gabrielda’s domain it was she who backed off or sought the safe places, and he who sallied out from his cozy nook by the range to scare her into noisy protests. While here she was bristling to him. His paw poised itself in mid-air.
Loretta grew reckless. Fanning her wings, in one lightning stroke she bit him between his flattened ears.
The pain of it enraged Tomasso. With a jump, he met her.
Then ensued such a scene as the kitchen knew. There was mewing and spitting and yowling; there was gawking and squalling and a rending cry for “Tony!” All the while, close to the gold of Ophir, the cat and the parrot went dizzily around and around, a whirligig of gray, scarlet, and black—that tossed off fur and feathers.