The trouble began when Jimmie put food out for the feral cats he'd spotted skulking along the edge of the woods. Cats crept to the porch and ate—but they weren't the only ones.
Buzzards arrived a week later. Wings spread like cloaks, the carrion eaters perched on the porch railing in the morning sun.
“They're just warming up,” explained his wife, “so they can fly.”
Jimmie wasn't convinced. He'd seen them eating cat food and staring in the windows.
The day he tumbled down the porch steps and broke his neck, Jimmie discovered just what the buzzards were after.