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,