She’s crouching on the deck, paws pushing into the warm concrete floor as she spies on my porch across the street. Her eyes don’t blink when I step outside. We stare at each other for three seconds before I smile and stroll across the yard. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s still watching me. The nosiest neighbor of them all, she won’t let me out of her sight…until I’m halfway down the street. Then she’ll avert her gaze back to the target. It wasn’t me. I was the distraction.
Her orange tail twitches. Like an addict craving the smorsgabord of drugs, alcohol, or food spread across a banquet table, inviting her to take a small taste…before she dives in and falls down the rabbit hole, spiraling toward a furious frenzy she hides so well when she licks her paws and meows for a scratch between the ears. She never cared about me. Her obsession is the bed of twigs and grass nestled in my basil pot. A mother bird incubating her baby doves, nursing them to a healthy strength when they can spread their wings and fly away.
I see the beauty of this nature scene. Miss Cat only sees a meal. If only she could reach the perch where Mother Bird was smart enough to nest her young. Miss Cat’s chubby legs could never spring her ample tummy high enough to reach the ledge of her prey. Miss Cat will have to find another home to raid. She knows better than to trespass, too. But that doesn’t stop her from spying, ruminating moves and plots she’ll never try. For if she does and I catch her in the act, her big ol’ bottom is going to meet the tail end of my broom. I doubt it will teach her to mind her own business, but it will be fun to watch her meaty haunches bounding across the road and back to her post, where I’m certain to find her crouched again when I go for my next morning run.