I sat on the porch
In front of the house
Watching the flies buzz
Around a dead mouse.
He lay on his side
With tongue sticking out;
They walked on his ribs
And lit on his snout.
His four little legs
Stretched sadly in vain,
Never to run
Through the meadows again.  

How did he feel
When he first met the cat?
I wondered...he lay there,
So stiff on the mat.
Was his reaction a
Squeak of surprise?
Did he see his life flash
In the cat's eyes?
When sharp claws and teeth
Held him like a tomb,
Did he think, maybe somehow,
He'd make it back home?  

Suddenly,
I was approached by a fly
That flew in my face
And lit near my eye.
He seemed self-assured,
Hungry and bold,
Acting like flies have
Since ice has been cold.
I tossed my head back
And shooed him away:
"Little fly", I said,
"Today's not the day.".