Refing the Heavyweights

Slipped back inside from the stoop just in time to catch complete chaos. Whiskers was crouching low on the rug, tail twitching like a live wire, eyeing up my green plastic dinosaur like it was fresh meat. One paw smacked the reptile's snout, knocking it sideways. Nobody throws down on my turf without a referee. I sprinted right between them, scooped up a flat metal ruler from under the couch, and slammed it edge-down onto the floorboards with a sharp crack. Stood tall right between the claws and the plastic jaws, waving my arms to split the combatants. The cat blinked, backed up two paces, and curled onto the floor. I propped the dinosaur back up on its feet. Order is restored.