December 19 (local); 4:32 a.m. December 20 (Greenwich)At the brownie reservation in the mountains north of Chattanooga, Tennessee, Helen Bingham had dozed off on the couch to a rerun of Law and Order. She woke abruptly when her cat used her stomach as a trampoline to reach the back of the couch. “One of these days,” she muttered, glaring at the animal. Patches twitched her tail, stalked to the end of the couch, jumped down and went to the back door. This was obvious cat-speak for, “Open the door, woman.” Helen eyed the big calico, trying to persuade herself it couldn’t be anything urgent. It was well known that brownies could communicate with cats. In fact, they often preferred that to talking to humans if the cat in question refrained from playing catch-the-brownie. Following prolonged negotiations that, thankfully, had not included any casualties, Patches and the brownies had come to a mutually acceptable territorial arrangement. The house and yard belonged to the cat, who was allowed to roam, but not hunt in, the rest of the reservation.
