Setting a trotline after sundown if we went far enough away in the night sometimes up out of deep water would come a secret-headed channel cat,
Eyes that were still eyes in the rush of darkness, flowing feelers noncommittal and black, and hidden in the fins those rasping bone daggers, with one spiking upward on its back.
We would come at daylight and find the line sag, the fishbelly gleam and the rush on the tether: to feel the swerve and the deep current which tugged at the tree roots below the river.
