Cats
There's a cat outside. As a rule, I don't like cats. They rub up against you, which makes me wonder if they have fleas and are just trying to scratch an itch. Ultimately, I recognize that my aversion is due to my allergy to their dander, but that's reason enough. My eyes swell up and the faucet of my nose goes full blast, and soon enough I look like I've just done a line or three.
She's on the porch, by my plants.
I swear that if he eats my blackberry I'll eat her
She looks like she's had kittens recently. I assume she's feral, a ronin from one of the colonies around here. I gave her water so she wouldn't lap at the bowls underneath my plants. It's been thirty minutes at least and she still there, pacing and cleaning herself.
I wonder about my empathy: am I wrong not to extend more to this cat? This slaughterer of songbirds?
At any rate, she's gone.
She's on the porch, by my plants.
I swear that if he eats my blackberry I'll eat her
She looks like she's had kittens recently. I assume she's feral, a ronin from one of the colonies around here. I gave her water so she wouldn't lap at the bowls underneath my plants. It's been thirty minutes at least and she still there, pacing and cleaning herself.
I wonder about my empathy: am I wrong not to extend more to this cat? This slaughterer of songbirds?
At any rate, she's gone.