As keeper of the garden
I notice things
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.