-my female black-haired cat and the big calico male cat across the street-

my cat is fast as lightning and as slick as a lubricated piston-rod.

she’s sleek, like a strand of licorice and nearly as pliable.

she crouches and pounces like a panther; like the best of them in Burma,
or Nepal, or wherever else they're found, whenever objects roll across her path.

when she was a kitten, the sight of a full-grown crow, cawing

on the deck’s railing outside, sent her running for cover, confusing

her instinctive sensibilities.

but that aside, she’s grown to be a fierce protector
of her standing inside the house against moths and flies on the wing.

the big calico male across the street is designated

by his human family as an “outdoor cat,” meaning

he goes outside everyday to check-up on things then saunters
inside where floor-bowls sit filled to their brims and I assume,
where tasty snacks are occasionally presented as reward
for a job well done.

the big calico's "outdoor cat" designation also distinguishes him
from the scarred, battered ruffians who roam out there for a living.

whenever my cat sees the handsome calico from the window,
trotting around his property across the street like king shit,

her head lifts high, her ears become vertical spearheads, and her tail

expands to resemble one of those bushy-headed, rainbow-colored dusting tools,

but in her case, pitch-tar black, which unfortunately is not a color
available to her in the "Catalog of Bushy-headed Dusting Tools."