The next morning, they ate again – A simple breakfast of figs and cereals. He wants to show her the island. They dress medieval again. She has the perfect dress complete with a hennin (the “dunce cap” hat). It is sky blue and has long sheaves of blue ribbon down the sides. He loves it and tells her so.

“Glad you think so.” She says, and takes his arm as they walk out to the garage to get the Jeepney.

Just then, a male Lyrebird hops on the dias and spreads his back tail and begins to sing.

They are laughing because it’s chirping “Angel in the Centerfold” by J Geils.

“Wow! I think I skated to that song as a kid.” She laughs.

“Would you like to see where the Lyrebirds sleep? I need to go check their cages.”

“Well yes. I suppose I would.” She replied.

It is on the roof of the garage where the Sheikh kept the Lyrebird cages. Row after row of perfect coops. Designed to where the birds could get in but the margays could not. The only drawback was that he had to let them out every morning.

There is blood and feathers everywhere by the outside steps to the coops. Her foot scrapes the gravel.

“Gross!” she says. “Is it like this every morning?”

“No. The cats must have gotten in over the fence.” He gripped her arm. “Stay here.” he says and walks up the steps to the roof.

”Holy shit!” He exclaims and she is on the roof in seconds behind him. Every cage is ripped open and mangled bodies are everywhere. Blood and grizzle are on the ground in buckets. Here, there was a severed Lyrebird, snapped in two. In another spot, an entire wing, ripped savagely out of the body. It was a complete massacre. There was not a spot on the roof where there was not blood. She vomited.

At the sound of her convulsions, they heard a wet mewing. In the far corner of the rooftop a margay lay, dying. Its low dark mew was sickening and when it did not mew, it wheezed.

“Stay here,” he said.

“Not a chance.” she said, gripping his arm harder than before.

Although it seemed a bit foolish, he did have a dagger on his belt. It was just for show, mind you, but it made him feel better holding it. He pulled it out and held it in his left hand while they gingerly walked around most of the mess to the cat. When he was three feet away, he stomped the ground and yelled “HA!” to see if he could get any response from the cat. Nothing.

The docile animal wheezed and mewed again.

“Reeeeeeeooooooooo” it said, lowly. How had it become wounded? From the side it looked unharmed, which is why he thought maybe it was just playing at being dead.

For all intents and purposes, a margay looks exactly like a Jaguar’s kitten. A miniature version of the larger cat. They circled around the other side of the cat and he nudged it with his boot. Nothing. Then he rolled it over. Blood everywhere, but where was the wound?

There was no wound. Quick, like a housecat on a hardwood floor, the Margay scrambled up on all fours, dancing on the tile. Rising on its legs, arching moans and meowls erupted above them in the Melaleuca tree that towered above their head. Their hearts were in their mouths as they slowly looked up to behold the tree above them, full of all the margays from all over the island. There must have been a hundred. They had come in all around him as they were focused on the body below. Her hands gripped his arm, tighter than before.

Veterinarians will tell you that during the full moon, the animal hospitals see a rise in cat and dog accidents and pet related injuries up to thirty percent. Lions, usually nocturnal animals, will begin to hunt during the day when the moon is full. The more the moon’s pull on an animal, the more insane they will come. Many deny this, but the evidence remains solid. Even if this idea is completely false, it could only give credence to the actions of the cats.

Now, with a third of the stars remaining in the sky, the moon was brighter than ever, it was twice the size, and it was blood red. Now, at 7:45 in the morning, it was almost as bright as the sun. Maybe Isa was coming today.

He hugged her tightly, staring into the tree.

“Susan.” she said.

“W-what?” he managed to say, looking at her briefly, then back up to the tree.

“I never told you my name.” she said.

“Nice to have met you Susan. I’m Mohammad.”

It was the last thing that either of them ever said.