Those Who Live With Me

She is not a pet, the brown
 robust cat stays on her own
as if she is a coresident.

She scrambles on the walls,
 jumps over to the neighbours
 spends some time there and returns.

 Here in my garden, the squirrels play riot 
on my  trees, eating  half of the ripe ones 
 throwing the remain, making the garden messy.

Brownie turns carnivorous 
once or twice a week,  Seeing the squirrels 
 enjoying the time on the trees, she 

 barges on the vulnerable, runs holding 
the bait in between the teeth,  mindless 
of the squeaking and screaming.

Brownie rips  the skin apart,  grabs 
the flesh, dines sumptuously in her niche
designated to a sound slumber.

Next morn, I see streaks of blood 
pieces of skin. lie scattered, in the garden,  
Saddened,  I walk back  overtaken by Brownie,