As keeper of the garden

I notice things

interventions,

 

Today it is a skirmish on the lawn.

A cluster of bluebottles

at the smothered grey slick of a mouse

 

I wonder where they all come from

for nature to call them so promptly

attentive at the worm of entrails.

 

I don't see the cat often,

he left a turd as marker,

a barnstorm of a smell,

with more bluebottles.

 

After discreet removal,

I watered the patch with Dettol

blocked his usual gap in the chain link

but he bided his time,

only to re confirm his presence.

 

He is glorious in his way

but I take exception to his fondness fror birds,

so I cut back his camourflage:

geraniums, sedum, nettles

to a bare patch;

 

now he stands out like a naughty boy

in flagrante, a twenty four hour prowler

who knows the value of night stalking,

pussy quiet, picking his feet up

avoiding snails that move too slowly

 

while we sleep.

He knows more

than we can ever dream of

when it comes to pure killing.