Panther Prattle

One Can Never be Too Many

"Ambiance," giggles Kiera after she exhales, and earthy plumes rocket across the room.

"That is why you work for me," scolds Marcia.

"No one in their right mind will work for you, Marcia," snips Kiera, after she takes a cavernous drag, exhales, and follows with, "And that is because you do not compensate fairly."

The hackles on Marcia's head rise so quickly, her hair lifts and settles -like sand during a desert windstorm.

"For the love of anything unholy, retract the claws," I sigh.

The sisters turn toward me; Kiera releases a snorty giggle and Marcia's eyes cast shadows of irritation and something akin to gloom.

"Does this ever stop?" I query before turning and walking into my bedroom.

I shut the door with enough force to make evident my lessening desire to entertain more of their bickering, flip the light switch, trek the room, and stand in front of a full-length, freestanding mirror.

I peer at my reflection, recall ancestral antidotes related to berries, sweetness, and the richness of ebony skin, and silently thank genetics for lending me long legs and an athletic build.

The woosh of the ceiling fan signals a truce developing beyond the tightly shut door, but doesn't muffle my ego when it whispers, "Panthers travel alone."