The Phantom Paw

Last Tuesday we took our RV to be repaired. The service manager told us it would take at least a week to make the necessary repairs. So, since we live in our RV, and living in it while it is in the shop is not very much fun, we decided to go see our eldest, Ron, and wife Nikky, northwest of Houston.
We have one small dog, Frankie the pom. They have two outside dogs, black mouth curs named Sunshine and Moonbeam, and five indoor cats: Gizmo, an oriental; Jaden, a white long-hair; Twitter, a lovely smoky blue-grey; and the twins, Castor and Pollux, nearly identical grey striped tabbies.
Frankie thinks he would like to play with the cats.
The cats think they would like to ambush Frankie and tear him to shreds.
No one has actually come to great harm, but small puffs of fur often float through the air after one of their confrontations.
Night before last, Frankie ran around the end of the couch and found himself surrounded--ambushed by three of the five. The other two were sitting on top of the aquarium, snickering.
The twins like to climb up their cat "tree" and leap down suddenly, when Frankie least expects it.
Sometimes they hide in the dining room chairs, and jump on him as he walks underneath the table.
The other night, about 3:30 a.m., Frankie, who was sleeping in our bedroom, started barking. Wick told him to be quiet.
He was quiet for a minute.
Then he barked again.
This time, I told him to hush.
He did. For about 30 seconds.
Then he really started barking.
And he wouldn't hush.
So finally, I decided maybe he needed something. I don't know. A drink of water?
To go outside? What does a dog want, at 3:30 in the morning?
So I got out of bed and reached for my robe.
That's when I saw it.
A paw.
A cat's paw.
Hooked menacingly.
Waving to and fro under the bottom of the door.
By the time I opened the door, the paw and its owner had disappeared, but Frankie was on the trail.
Barking.
Loudly.
I'm sure Ron and Nikky wanted to throw something at him.
By the time I caught up with him, drug him back to the bedroom, and shut the door, I was wide awake. Frankie barked once more, then curled up on his pillow, as if nothing had happened, and started snoring softly.
Wick was snoring loudly.
No one else was stirring, not even a mouse.
So I did what any sensible person would do, at 3:30 in the morning.
I lay in bed, counting cats, until I finally fell asleep again.
Fortunately, the cats were also asleep, or had lost interest.
Tonight I'm planning to roll up a rug and put it against the bottom of the door.
Just in case the Phantom Paw tries to strike again.