Cat and Crow Have a Quarrel
Upstairs, my cat sits in this open window and watches, sniffing smells carried on the winds of sunset. Without warning, black feathers flash filling the frame, as old crow lands on the nearest branch of the maple that shelters our home. What a rumpus. Their arguments grate, their words need oiling; each one huffed up and cursing the other. Fearing the screen may not hold, I clap my hands to distract them. They yield, and old crow flies off into the twilight. The cat sulks and stares, searching for feathers. All I can hear now is my heart drumming the beats of this battle. Evening closes its shadows over their squabble and the air grows still, as if nothing had happened. Then the cat’s head jerks to the left; something is stirring the darkness.
Words and photo are ©copyright 2011-2013 Carol Steel.