The Cat

A hint of tiredness shrouds the atmosphere

as feet drag voluntarily within the sanctioned

limits of the streets. Propping up heavily hooded 

eyes, blind, the passers-by are unaware 

of an avian performance unfolding in the air

 — a welcome uplift albeit brief.

At the top floor of the building across the street,

a cat is glued to the windowpane. Parted by glass, 

the cat is clearly fascinated by a frustration 

of tiny songbirds swarming in a dizzying tempo 

like bees back and forth between two trees. 

 — Mesmerized, a hunter’s eyes dart to and fro.

Unable to resist, the cat surely would have

 — if it could have — burst through the pane 

and jumped, open-mouthed, into the tantalising 

flock of beckoning birds. And “Oh, how heavenly,” 

it would have purred. 

And no-one would have known why a cat, its desire 

to gratify, had jumped — or perhaps been pushed? 

and landed on the kerb, except, that is, for the birds and I.

Sometimes it's worth looking up above the crowds to catch a piece of drama

I felt for the cat.