The Cat-Bird Seat
Our table was the setting for
the aviary breakfast that
took place outside the kitchen door.
We watched it with the cat
who, in the long tradition of
a feline-driven expectation,
stared with a look akin to love
(and requisite frustration) .
An indoor cat, she prowled the house
lacking the feral satisfaction
for the sage capture of a mouse
or any agnate action.
“Poor cat, ” she claimed, “just wants to play.”
I disagreed. “She wants to eat.”
We sparred in fun, but either way
the cat evinced defeat
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