True To Type (Poetry)

She comes to me
this tawny honey-yellow cat
the engine of her purr roaring
as she rubs her cheek
hard against my hand

Eyes electric amber
trapping thought’s thin flies
she locks me in her stare
intense — and for one giddy moment
our two worlds transfer...

I feel the wild beneath
her well-groomed fur
how instinct rules the nose
that sniffs for mice —
she is the blameless slave
of her own predatory nature

And so I know her hunger
like my own
her habits true to type
each little murder in her heart
an ancient craving inherited
from her kind

Later I clear away the night’s
small display of slaughter with
no need for questions
for we understand each other
this nocturnal hunting cat and I
agree it’s best such crimes
are left unanswered.