Cat Journal

Snakes And Groundmoles

I remember groundmoles, still.
Last week we stayed away
from the cloudy purple sky,
dreary,
and then the edge of night.

Days go by.

The grass grows.
It gets cut.
Old town festivities make
us happy.
The gypsy moth in us all
makes me love the greener
weather,
trees slightly swaying,
maybe one hundred years old.

He has webbed some folding chairs.
Quiet.
He comes to the back of the
deck, bound to be hungry
from making a brown footstool.
We do what we can to survive
the darker days, safe harbour
in the heat.
Heat heals me.

The next day it is sunny.

The cat is out, I cringe
from seeing a long garden snake
three days ago, rain slipping
down the gutters.
Cat's paws into the mulched ground,
she has found a baby groundmole.
It races and burrows into the dirt
below the hemlock.
I grab her chain and pull it up to the
frosted dewy porch,
then taking her off the chain,
finalizing my love for her.
She's safe, my cat, the animals
can't hurt you when you're watched.