On soft padded paws, the black cat treads
slowly infiltrating the night.
Cautiously stalking his perceived dreads
lips part, teeth flash, ready to fight.
The cat pulls back, his spine hairs alert
he pauses ’fore slithering on.
Slit eyes of gold, on guard!, they assert
feigning cool, he stifles a yawn.
He’s prey or it’s prey, he knows not which
fear propels him to take a stand.
Back arched, ears flat, the tail starts to twitch
one pounce, and I’m back from dreamland.
(Written for dVerse, Meeting The Bar: Following Through On Metaphor. September 11, 2014.)