With a simple flinch of my muscles, I’m on the porch's wall. It really is the perfect vantage point. It’s the best perspective. From here I can see the world. From here, with all the angles covered, the perfect vantage point ---I can conquer the world! I really am, am I?-as good as I think I am? I’m REGAL baby. I see something …Sh.
He sees a flock of birds. They appear to be pushed off some mountain with all the momentum hurling them recklessly just above. He can only dream. He salivates. But …He does appreciate them. The sight makes him relax. He takes a deep breathe. He flattens out his body and slowly pulls each muscle strand taut. He’s only several inches tall, almost invisible. Maybe he is?-Was ---never there?
He blends into the world. The eyes won’t stop on him. Even if the eyes were actually looking for him, they’d merely pass on by. From this position he can see the path in any direction. He can see all the vulnerabilities. He could press the button on anybody, who makes a simple mistake …
From south east to North West he moves on the porch’s wall, or, he simply, out of nowhere, appears there. He inches down a ninety degree angle. He blends and moves with the contours. Still, his existence has not been lodged in any ledger. Anywhere!
He’s on the ground rolling in the dirt. Now he actually is invisible. He moved closer? Now he’s moving recklessly, quickly, he possibly could be seen? (Then there) He’s in the air, twisting his body. He has to fit through two branches inches apart …
The branches, Juniper, had grown in a wispy fashion. Two branches seemed to collapse and then tried to stand up apart from one another. They wisped away from each other to connect later forming a circle. Inside that circle was a bird, “Help,” trapped by his own illusions. There was an exit. He couldn’t see it, and now he’ll never have another chance.
In the air he twisted his body and then stopped his body, ‘just like that’, snap. He pulled everything tight. He moved faster and faster. Like a missile, through the circular branches …it was contact, a murderous unprovoked attack: A life and death collision. The bird passed out before the jaws came clapping down, luckily for the bird. He would’ve heard laughter,
Stanford, my cat, laughed as the bird first, “Shrieked,” and later, had a ball with the body. And, following his own delusions, he left me a little present at the foot of my nightstand: A be-headed skeleton of a little birdy.
Now the D.A. has two charges against my cat: Mutilation of a corpse, and of course, Murder. For a picture of the killer in this story go to the post titled: “Killer.”
Don’t forget to feed your cat!
The End
