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"The Old Cat" (by Joe DiMino)

The old cat
Was still quite spry—
Spry enough
To catch a flycatcher on the fly;
If the feathered aeronaut got
Too confident
A bit careless
When he went for the head
And not the tail—
The cat adept at flipping
And turning
Since a kitten been training—
But naturally Olympic;

Well—nesting season again
Came around;
Flycatchers cutting-up territory
All over town—
Singing soaring melodies,
About Forever Blue Sky—
Born to fly—
The females sat on the nests;
One of the males’ duties to bomb the cat
While on padded-patrol,
Silent if not for the grass
Twitching with each
Lethal pass;

The flycatchers had lost
Many a little one in the past;
Left the nest a bit too soon
And never saw
That day the moon;
But now the cat
More often than not
Seemed blind to the low fluttering,
The small chirps within the near
Tall grass—
Strange, he still had all acuteness
When it came to rats;

I feed him well
And we sit together rocking
On the patio—
I swear he seems to listen with me
To the birds,
Lift with feathers to the sky
In open air—
Perhaps fondly daydreaming
As I….

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