These local strays have decided 
tonight’s the night to fuck or fight 
right below my bedroom window.
It’s vicious sounding, too.
They banged into the trailer
in a brutal wad of claws and fangs, 
hissing out unholy yowls 
that set the dogs to barking
all up and down the holler.
I’d about bet the fur was flying

and that there’s blood 
on the back porch by morning,
where the loser or the winner 
will retreat to lick their wounds.
I try to put a stop to it.
The fucking or fighting, either way.
There are only so many homes to find 
for feral, country-ass kittens
and cantankerous, one-eyed toms.