A napping cat, cat-napped,
wrenched roughly from its sunny
back-porch slumber to sate the mid-day
munchies of a sandy, panting alpha male.
At my feet, on the end of a drooping
leash, lies my own softly snoring
four-legged friend and I wonder
how the wild and the tame
met in this chessboard of cool
white condos and golf-course greens.
Did he catch her scent on the breeze
as he patrolled the fourteenth hole?
Or did he wait, sheltered
in that shady stand of silent pines
guarding kitty’s sleepy haven?
Was he stealthy and smooth
as he crept in closer? Or did he launch
himself with a howl, a lawn dart
with an appetite? Lucky kitty
never woke from her furry,
toy-chasing, string-swatting,
Sunday dreams. She never knew
what bit her.
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