* * * *
Seeking out the tiniest ray of sun
sprawling spindly legs, yawning arms
and pointy toothed grins,
she spots a movement.
No different than any other predator
slowly does it, combat like
excited instinct, takes over.
The fly seems to cock his head as he knows
slanting eyes are upon him,
and instead of retreat, zooms in, silly thing.
Then with a jump worthy of an olympic games
with panache that even Nureyev would be proud of,
she accurately paws the fly from the sky and
the battle begins, with a fearsome buzzing
from deep inside her pink muzzle.
She, with a cross eyed look is puzzled.
Where's he gone?
And as the buzzing gets louder
she, no longer able to bear the tickle,
releases her toy and out he roars, this time a little wiser
he rockets to the ceiling waiting for her to tire.
And to this day, the fly ponders
on whether he prefers this feline siege, or
the swinging swoosh of the evil fly swatter.
* * * *