The crows are alarmed at our cat Stumpy. She sits on the picnic table blinking as if to say “Who are these large, black birds that are so disagreeable? Why are they picking on us? We would never attack birds that large.” Stumpy is the smallest, most aggressive cat of our five. The others stay out of sight. “It’s karma for your depredations,” I say, referring to her role as the Goddess of Doom to lizards. She looks away, pretending not to understand.
hey crows,
why all that May Day over
one small cat?
Shut up
so I can practice flute!
(c) Bob Loomis (with thanks to Linda Papanicolaou for help editing)
05-31-2011
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