The domestic cat is a natural born killer
Displaced to an unnatural environment.
She pays homage to her treacherous instincts
By chasing sinister shadows all day, like a
Hapless detective in a film noir. She doesn’t
Know what really lurks in the shadows;
Is it a vindictive mouse, returning from the
Dark underbelly of the backyard to exact revenge?
Or a bird, heart as dark as its feathers, emerging
From the foggy gray sky to pluck the cat’s last
Shred of dignity from her languid paws?
The cat’s pursuit is a hopeless one; she will
Never find the answers she desires. Darting
From one dark corner to the next she will search
For answers in the shadows until she lists into madness.
I find her one morning splayed on the cold tile
Of the bedroom floor, depleted from a night of stalking
The elusive mysteries of her domain. I reach to comfort her
But she slaps my hand away, squinting at me with weary
Yellow eyes. I know what she is thinking:
We are not so different. She runs from room to room
Chasing what might be in the shadows. I do the same,
Only silently, and in my restless mind.