Antoine-Louis Barye:
Tiger Stalking Prey
(c. 1850)

"I, of course, know much better at least half the time…"

I hadn’t a clue I was a Stalker, even though The Muse had been steadfastly attempting to clue me in by complaining about my apparent obsession. No, I did not feel especially compelled to write about our incumbent. I honestly felt that I was performing a necessary public service by being a vocal critic. Hadn’t God given me the gift of criticism? What was I supposed to do with that gift, if not exercise it? Yes, vehemently at times, perhaps in tones that might have come across as overly strident. Had he not richly deserved every critique I dealt? Did I not still have the right to say whatever I damned well pleased, even if I also carried an equal and opposite obligation to not always say whatever I pleased in public?

I see now that I had been Stalking, though I still strongly feel that my effort was necessary and well within my rights, since our incumbent had been a public menace. (Who did I suppose didn’t already know this and might also appreciate near-constant reminders?) Had I become an equal and opposite menace, maybe even exceeding our incumbent’s level of annoying stridency? Had I been associating too closely with my avowed enemy by too frequently reporting on his antics and thereby become imprinted next to him in the burned-in memories of members of my primary audience? Had I become little more than a complainer, whining my way toward an imagined Jerusalem? Was mine a crusade? Was I really as ready to pounce as my written language might have been suggesting I was? (I’d never been that much of a pouncer before.)

The Stalker knows for absolute certain whatever the Stalker convinces himself represents his truth. He almost always moves in from downwind, lest they become the prey they imagine their object of revulsion to be. Must the hunter hate their deer to justify killing it, or must they conflate love with whatever seems necessary for survival or supper? Is hunting really recreational in the way that a round of golf or some waterskiing might be? I Stalked because I was certain of the absolute need for retribution. I was seeking to inflict at least some of the well-earned Comeuppance he still has coming. I had righteousness on my side, and he was obviously part of the devil’s contingent. I would deliver the justice if I got the chance. Vengeance might just be mine rather than the Lord’s in this instance, if only for just an eminently forgivable second. Mine will be an angelic viper’s bite, good rather than evil riddance.

Who precisely elected me Jesus Freaking Christ in this instance? Why was I chosen from all the others, many obviously much better suited to delivering vengeance, justice, or Comeuppance? It seems I was self-selected, moved to contribute my services for perhaps less than completely honorable reasons. Yes, I ached to get even, or at least move toward running on a more even keel. No, I hadn’t for a moment imagined that I might have been engaging in one of the more common, if lesser evils. Had I actually pounced, my actions might have proven actionable, and, truth told, in that pouncable moment, I probably would have easily justified turning myself into a martyr, for only the best of all possible reasons. Thank Heavens, or something, that I never reached that fateful crossroads where such a choice actually presented itself. I might have awakened from that terribly satisfying dream state in time to change, but then, perhaps not.

I felt how it feels to be the prey yesterday when I learned that those damnable anti-data center people had been ‘bad mouthing’ me again in a public meeting. I acknowledge that I have sometimes reveled when their ires got rankled. I have felt a deep sense of satisfaction when I’ve noticed them Stalking my position, knowing that they won’t be able to lay tooth or claw upon me. Yes, I have even goaded them on occasion, feeling as though I have chosen an eminently defensible position, confident of whose side the God I don’t really believe in has taken. I appreciate how terribly satisfying it can be to have somebody as easily reviled as me to Stalk. The Muse says I talk much more than I should. It might be that I am not the stalkee, the prey, in these encounters, but merely Stalking the Stalkers, with them unawares. It’s really a stare-down, punctuated with unsupportable assumptions, probably from both sides. The Muse advises me to keep my yap shut more often and not to goad anyone. I, of course, know much better at least half the time and continue playing the role of fruitless Stalker then.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Comeuppance, #PureSchmaltz