Cat of night
When dark descends, he rules the shadowed realm
of things that skit and scamper bush to bush.
His hunter’s eyes perceive what we cannot:
those beasts that habitate the shade.
The moth that flit from bloom to bloom —
the possum, pale from waiting out the day,
and backyard rats —
That race to harvest seed and husks
the birds have left behind.
He will not shirk from chasing rats up to the roof
to give them pause — with luck to capture one,
for other rats to see that he is king
and should be feared.
Perhaps a penance should be made?
Some furry gift to mollify the fearsome
cat of night.