The Myth of Wile E

Spellbound With Suspense

Seeing the possum dead and then not-dead, I was reminded about the envelope sitting on That Shelf in My Kitchen, with my house's salvation inside it, or not. The backhoes were only a few sunny days away from clearing the rest of the stumps from the valley, and bulldozers waited their turn to level all the dirt left behind. In less than two weeks the fence would come down and those machines would rush into my yard to push my house around. It was time to open up that envelope and finally see if there was anything alive in there.

I decided to open it in front of the spider and the squirrels. After all, their fate was on the line too. I scooped the sleeping squirrels out of my sock drawer and into my pocket. Spellbound with suspense, they continued sleeping.

I took the envelope into the bathroom and squinted in the dim light.

One thing I always admired about Wile E. Coyote—no matter how many times his plans went absurdly wrong, he remained optimistic. At the beginning of a brand new plan, he would often have a fork and knife ready, napkin tucked under his chin. Wile E. expected success.

And so, like Wile E. Coyote, I pulled out my pretend knife and fork, and tucked a pretend napkin under my chin. I tore open the envelope, all ready to learn that I'd caught primus prizus.

"Congratulations!" the letter began.

The cat was alive. Alive!

And then I read on.

"While we regret that your entry, 'Ode to Light,' did not advance in our contest—"

The cat was dead.