He’s mine

I was walking Rees to his friend’s house. After we'd gone about a mile, a female jogger passed us, and Rees started jogging along with her. When they were about 100 yards ahead, I heard a woman out in front of her house ask the jogger, “Is he yours?” That’s odd, I thought, so I waved and yelled, “Hello! He’s mine!” Just so she could see that the young boy was not alone.

Another woman, getting into her car across the street, asked me, “Does he kill cats?”

“What?” I asked, sure I had misheard.

“Does he kill cats?”

“Kill cats?” I asked again and answered laughingly, “Nooooo, he does NOT kill cats!”

“Hmm,” she said, “Some of them do, you know.”

“Kill cats?” I said again.

She seemed really annoyed with me and observed, “I see you have him off leash.”

“Off leash?” What was she implying about my son? Was she really that scared of young boys? “You think I should put him on a leash?” I was incredulous, starting to get really angry.

And that is when I noticed the stray dog up ahead by Rees. The dog I had apparently just claimed was mine. It was okay after that. She was baffled, but we worked it out.