I'd been spotting him slinking about our neighborhood at different intervals. Then I saw nothing of him for several months. So, I figured he'd moved on for fatter pickings.

Wrong. This morning while standing and sipping my coffee at the kitchen window, I saw him trotting up the sidewalk in broad daylight. He was searching for vittles like opened garbage bins or tossed sandwich scraps bought from the Golden Arches down on the main drag.

Not long ago, someone pounded on our front door. A lady, her face tense with concern, informed me a "wolf" slept in our backyard. I thanked her. I suppose I could've phoned Animal Control. But I didn't. I'm more "live and let live" in my maturer years. And that's okay.

I used to enjoy hunting for sport. Not my cuppa anymore. The only killing I do is in my crime fiction (there's quite a bit, too, now as I reflect on it). But it's all make-believe, and nothing more than that. So, I'll just keep a sharper eye out during my various jaunts through the neighborhoods.