it is just after dusk,
and the day has gathered
it's coloured petticoats and
fled.
the sleek, white and black
patched cat,
from three doors
down, to the left
has taken up position,
on
the next door neighbor's shed.
she sits,
preening under the
moth dappled spotlight,
as she sings an aria
of love and seduction
* Un'aura amorosa—"
A loving breath"*
perhaps....
all the males
come to listen in,
testosterone,
induced adoration.
even the
little blucat
with only
vaguest memories
of infatuation, tries to heed
her siren call...
pressing
himself against
the glass sliding door
praying
for two miracles
the first being
osmosis
and the second
the reincarnation
of long lost testicles.
but
alas,
alack
god does not heed his
plaintive cries...
and besides the party
next door
is now over....
closed down
by a shower
of rain
sent by garden hose
all cats,
now wend their
way home to
dinner's cold
and hearth's warm
or to fight
as alley cats do
in dark corners
of this urban sprawl
awaiting the
midnite reprise
of the
operatic caterwaul
at number
two seventy four.
this will
be
the
third time
this week