My cat stalked for hours
and then late last night flew
in pursuit of a mouse up the stairs
and into my bedroom, caught the mouse
hung frozen in my cat’s jaws, released
it hopped and scurried back downstairs,
commotion in the dining room, the living room,
and then nothing.
                                  Thankfully my cat
doesn’t give me gifts. I’ve heard cats do that
because they think we can’t feed ourselves.
My cat must watch me cook.
                                                     That mouse, if it made it,
won’t last long if it stays here. If it didn’t,
I’ll know soon enough: maybe a smell,
maybe not, but the flies will tell me for sure,
all buzzy by the dining room window having fed,
and then, maybe someday I’ll find
what’s left behind
a box or under a chair:
small, gray crescent moon.