She

She slunk through the grass
eyes firmly fixed on her prey.
The geese knew she was coming
and with hisses charged her.

Hair standing on end, crying piteously,
she fled the scene pursued with much
hooting and wing flapping.
Through the cat flap she shot.

At last they were gone, next time
perhaps a sparrow or pigeon.
For after all she is a tiny scrap 
only four months old.

Bigger prey would have to wait,
for now a nice bowl of milk
and a platter of tasty food.
Replete she curls up on her cushion.

birdcatverse

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