On silent pads the cat walks out.
She carefully looks all about
Then sniffs the air with studied care
For any danger lurking there,
And scenting nothing threatening
With joy she makes an artful spring
Upon a twig, with agile paws
A leafy flutter torn by claws.
With great disdain she walks away
in search of somewhere else to play.
A cardboard box upon its side
Becomes a place where she may hide
And lurk until some toothsome prey
With great abandon comes her way.
But soon predacious interest flags,
Her furry tail frustrated wags.
New hunger pangs soon dominate
So long ago since last she ate,
With passage through the kitty door
Transformed to kitten as before
Into the kitchen seeks with speed
To rub an ankle, mew her need.
~ Alf Foxgord
