The Huntress

Written 12/2/2018

She blinks casually as if she is solely something to be loved and not feared.
She twists her head around—again, ever-so casually—
Taking in her environment,
Making note of the obstacles and interesting movements around her.
That twinkle in her eye tells me she is alert and waiting,
Ready at exactly the right moment to swiftly swat her paw and snap her jaw,
Claws and teeth extended for the kill.

Thankfully, her prey is an inanimate object;
Otherwise, its heart would be pounding loud enough for her to hear each terrified pulse,
Knowing its life is ending very soon.
In reality it is a set of feathers attached to a string and stick.
The yellow, red, and orange colors glide through the air as I tempt the huntress with its nonchalant, bouncing flight.
I am more than ready to counteract her strike to make the game difficult enough to still be fun.
But I have to say that even in my observation and anticipation
She wins every time, even if it takes an extra pounce or two.

She wiggles her rear and leaps full speed toward the toy birdie,
Chasing after it for a whole second and a half before pretending to devour it,
Using her mouth and all four legs as she lies on her back, fluffy underside facing the ceiling.
Then, as quickly as it happened,
She declares this play session over,
Indicating this to me by aggressively grooming her coat.

Just a moment later,
She looks deep into my soul with that killer twinkle in her eye,
And her gaze softens.
She blinks casually,
Lays her chin down on the soft mattress,
And closes her eyes as she flips her head upside down.

I reach out and lovingly rub her neck, thinking:
Thank goodness I’m not a bird.