Mercedes lounging on the couch. Doesn't he have the most beautiful eyes?
Oh, staring into emeralds,
emeralds set in amber.
The emeralds stare at me,
penetrating me,
tracking me,
calculating my every move.
He pounces.
He strikes.
He scratches.
He bites.
I say, "Boo!"
He says, "Mreowr!"
He scurries away.
I give chase.
Oh, wearing a pillow,
a gray, fluffy cushion.
The pillow paws at me,
settling onto my stomach,
curling into a ball.
I become the pillow's pillow.
I rest my hand upon his side.
He rests his back upon my belly.
I stroke him.
He purrs.
I scratch him.
He purrs more loudly.
I tell him he's cute.
He doesn't disagree.
Oh, hearing a child,
an impatient, tiny child.
The child begs insistently,
pleading with me,
crying at me,
asking for my permission.
I reach the door.
His ears stand erect.
I find the knob.
His eyes spring open.
I ask, "Out?"
He says, "Meow?"
I open the door.
He saunters outside.
Oh, my brother.
Oh, my friend.
Oh, my child.
Oh, my emerald.
Oh, my pillow.
Oh, my kitten.
Oreja
Life On the Edge....
Such a cute little predator, pouncing on knicknacks and stray threads, sharpening his hunting skills, getting so much better at destroying furniture. As the fluffy kitten sinks his fangs and claws into couch cushions and rubber balls, does he know? Is he aware he's carrying on a proud tradition of consummate hunters, incredibly skilled predators who've ruled over forests, mountains, and savannahs for countless centuries? Does he even care that his relentless, impassioned training as a mighty carnivore is being laughed at by humans? Does it matter to him that his keenly honed hunting skills are considered nothing more than playful antics by creatures whose muscles, senses, and reflexes are vastly inferior to his?
It's obvious what the answer is as he ambushes strings and shadow boxes with chairs. His concern is only for the hunt, his thoughts dwell only on his prey, regardless of the past, perfectly oblivious to the hairless simians gazing upon his acrobatics. Why should he care about what's passed before him? Why should he bother with the thoughts of clumsy bipeds who couldn't even catch slugs?
No, such matters are trivial, beneath him. When an irresistable prey appears, all thoughts fade into nothing, all stress and doubts disappear, and only one thing matters: pounce or be pounced. For that is how his ancestors have survived so gloriously, how they have risen to dominate the wilderness: by letting all unimportant thoughts slide. Welcome to life on the edge.
Written by Oreja
