I don’t like the way
the cat is looking at me

her narrowing eyes
her flexing claws

too often I have enjoyed
her delight in a moth

her dance against the window
now I see dead birds

their little rubber legs
jiggling their dead bodies

their white eyelids
accusing the moon

the cat stretches
like a question mark

the slits of her eyes
glance obliquely

looking at me
as if I had feathers