augury doggerel

Tuesday, March 26, 2002


Our old Mother Cat* one rainy night brought me a succession of twelve wet mice. She announced each of them by repeating a word peculiar for a cat, a two-syllabled meow, the second syllable rising.

She laid the mice in a row on the mat like sausages on a counter. After each delivery, she waited for thanks and a scratch from me, then went out into the dark to hunt again.

At about three or four that morning, I dropped my book and fell asleep. When I awoke, the mice were gone. She must have had an incredible feast, maybe had friends over. Nothing was left except a dozen unchewably toothy mouse snouts.

* More damned cat pictures.


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