Old Poem: The Cat

Dark outside, lightning flashes. I watch through the window, pause.

There was nothing there to curb this calm, and I wandered through the house, a cat at my feet.

The storm rises. The cat howls. The storm abates. The night breathes in steady rhythms.

When I wake, it is dawn. The cat is asleep on my chest. I move for air.

Outside, rain pools on concrete steps. The cat hides in the corner, eating a small grey bird. She eats the bird slowly, methodically, almost tenderly, as if caressing the bird with her mouth. I reach down, brush my hand over her back. She flinches and stalks away, slowly licking her teeth.