My garden hasn't been the same
since the day that Black Cat came.
I see him most mornings, stalking
with the fluid motion of liquid
spilling from a tumbled glass.
And the grass barely moves.
Then he pounces, all teeth and claws,
boxing with his clever paws.
And I watch him dancing, joyous,
almost faster than the eye can see.
No victim caught; just glad to be alive.
I wish he'd stay the whole of day.
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